Heroes
by Stars.Are.Metaphors
Summary: A meteorite strikes the McKinley High highschool, claiming the lives of hundreds of students and several of teachers. Some survive, but not all claim to be the same anymore.
1. The meteor

**Hello there! I'm here with a new fic.**

**AN/ This takes place somewhere after The first time but before Sectionals. Kind of AU. 'Cause there's no Shelby, Sam never left. And Puck and Quinn thus never got to see Beth. Also, no Finchel.**

**This story has been irking my mind for a while now, I couldn't help myself.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee. If I did, Sam and Puck would probably never wear shirts. But seeing as that's not the case, I sadly don't own it.**

**…**

**Heroes**

**…**

They're losing.

McKinley High football team is losing.

McKinley High football team is losing, _again_.

She's not surprised, honestly. Or angry, or sad, or confused. How many times has it been anyway? Ten _– twenty times_ – did they ever even win? Should she be shocked or just completely disappointed? Livid or simply sad. She's not. She never will be. It's a typical thing for them to lose. No worries, no anger.

But she will be honest, she might've, a little bit, sort of expected them to put out _at least _a _little_ fight. She's not asking for a big one, or a gigantic one, just a little fight. Maybe make the effort or some kind?

They don't.

She's not surprised.

Lately she hasn't been surprised about a lot of things. Rachel suspects that it happened the moment Finn cheated on her with Quinn.

Surprised? Not at all.

She should've seen it coming, though. A boyfriend that blows off dates, never shows up at her house, doesn't even bother to pick her up for school anymore – well, that's a boyfriend that's up to no good. A boyfriend that shoots his ex-girlfriend longing looks, smiles at her when he thinks no one is looking (when he thinks she's not looking), and sometimes – just sometimes – brushes his index finger against her arm, oh so lightly. Cherishing her skin as if she's so fragile; that's a boyfriend thinking about banging his ex-girlfriend's brains out.

And to think that she gave him her virginity.

Asshole.

She's somehow not surprised when Quinn tells her – point blank in the middle of Glee rehearsal – that she's been sleeping with Finn ever since Sectionals (they reconnected or something, whatever). She's not surprised about the lack of denial leaving his lips. Not surprised when he shoved an 'I'm so sorry' look in her face. A wordlessly apology. She was devastated, of course. She loved him, obviously it'd hurt.

But surprised? Nope, _never. _

Its times like those that require chocolate (lots and _lots_ of vegan chocolate) a good old best friend; Kurt Hummel whom might she say is really, _really_ helpful (the movies he brought along with him to her house were perfect distractions, can anyone say; _Funny girl_). And lots of activities to put her mind off of it.

This brings her to the football game.

Another one of Kurt's ideas.

Kurt told her it would be fun.

But in reality he just needed someone to sit next to him while Blaine jumped up and down screaming; ''Go team! Go!'' And, ''All of you _suck!_ Show me some balls!''

She's not surprised when Finn gives the team a good pep talk – he's always been the leader kind of guy – perfect for her. Because she too is a born leader. Her actions in Glee club are valuable proof of her skills. But then the screaming blond before her, pulls her into this dirty puddle of verity and Rachel needs to remind herself that he's not_ hers_ anymore.

Quinn's jumping up and down, blond hair rising and falling, holding her hands up at her mouth and curling it at the sides. _''Go Finn!''_ She yells eagerly, clapping her hands.

She's still not surprised about the outcomes of their lives. She should've known. And she thinks, deep down in her heart, she did know. Maybe it was there all along, flashing before her eyes, moving with her body. Maybe she didn't want to look.

Perhaps it was too much to bear, looking in the eyes of truth.

She leans back in her seat, crossing her legs and arms over each other. _''Black widow.''_ She mutters softly, as she blows out an exasperated breath. Kurt turns his head sideways, pursing his lips at her demeanor.

Okay, yeah she's still angry._ Sue_ her.

''Despiteful, aren't we?'' Kurt says, the corners of his lips tugging up.

Rachel shrugs, eyes attached to the blond form. She's not _entirely _despiteful. Quinn claps her hands softly, slowly sliding back into her chair as she slightly moves over to the side and mutters something into Mercedes ear, causing both of them to giggle. She rolls her eyes. _Attitudinizers_. They're just throwing their happiness in other people faces. No one wants to see that despicable sight. ''Just stating the truth Kurt… It's obvious that she's known to chew her mates before spitting them out.'' Rachel grinds out, motioning a hand towards the subject of their conversation. ''Before anyone can even blink; she'll be over to the next man. Evidently not caring if he may or may not have a partner.''

Rachel doesn't even try to hide her bitterness.

''You know, Rachel...'' he breathes out, sitting up straighter as his eyes glaze over the field. Blaine shouts, flipping his own team off as he looks at the player standing completely free.

Blaine raises his hands in a mock wording. ''Are you guy's _blind?'' _She flinches, scowling at the field. ''I'm way up here and even _I_ can see that!''

Poor Kurt, that's his boyfriend disgracing him.

He rolls his eyes at Blaine, leaning over his chair towards her. ''This might be a huge dot that you looked over, but surprise, surprise,'' he mockingly pitches in. ''Finn _isn't_ innocent either. The way you make it sound it's like dear Finn is the poor saint in this situation – and Quinn's the sinner.''

''She_ is_ Kurt.'' Rachel replies bitterly, unfazed by Blaine's grunts.

He nods, agreeing. ''She is. Just not the _only_ one.''

''Even if that may be… She should've learned from her mistakes.'' Rachel sits up, whipping her hair over her shoulder. ''The first time she cheated, it escalated into a pregnancy. The second time she cheated, she got mono… When will she ever learn? Apparently, punishment for our deeds doesn't do squad because _some_ just turn around and do it all over again!''

She exhales breathily, eyes falling back to the field. Searching for the quarterback. ''He's wrong too… just… Quinn probably said something to him that caused him to do this to me.'' Rachel shrugs one shoulder, jutting her head sideways. ''Other than that he would've _-could've_- never cheated on me.'' Her eyes fall onto his lean form bending over to the ball and whipping a trail of sweat off his forehead. She finds herself smiling.

How can she not love that?

He purses his lips. ''It feels like you're trying to convince yourself, instead of anyone else.'' Kurt nudges her with his shoulder. She frowns. ''We're here to enjoy ourselves, remember? Not think about ex-boyfriends and vicious sluts with double agenda's. It's all about the game.''

''_Come on!_ Foul play dammit! That's a freaking foul play!'' Blaine threads a hand in his hair, finally falling back into his seat. ''Why does our team have to be so… so… so…''

''_Outrageous?''_ Kurt finishes.

Blaine nods. ''Sadly, you have described them perfectly.''

Rachel sighs, eyes following Sam Evans as he runs away with the ball. His blond locks brushing through the air.

Kurt has always told her that he looks oddly cute while in completely focus. A serene vibe washing over him.

He kind of does.

Her back leans deeper into the chair. Giving up at following the game when Sam loses the ball right before throwing it into those poles like thingies. Her eyes turn up to look at the sky and her head softly lies down on the railing of her chair.

As her gaze swiftly shifts across the heavens and the clouds invade her sight, she notices a sparkling light moving its way down. It's quite big, not enormously big, or gigantic big. But just big.

She's hundred percent sure, as the object moves closer and she spits her eyes, that it's nothing but a star.

_A shooting star._

A bright shiny blue, saturated, _shooting star._

Rachel sits up straight. She's never seen one up close. But if she recalls correctly she needs to wish before it vanishes for good.

What should she wish for? Broadway? No, already in the back pocket. Fame? As if, fame will be wishing for her instead. Her mother? Maybe it's better if she doesn't have her at all. Don't get her wrong, she would love a mother daughter bound. But just not now. Just not for a while. Finn? Maybe – _maybe… _She would love to wish Finn back, but perhapsshe should be wishing deeper. Look into the core of her heart. Like, wishing love. Unforgettable, endless love.

If he's the one – wouldn't love give him back?

She takes one look at the nearing object, forgetting everything around her, as she closes her eyes tightly, exhaling deeply.

She smiles softly, pressing her lips together.

_Make a wish._

When her eyes flutter open and a frown cascades over her forehead, she's certain, as sure as the thought that Barbra Streisand and she will meet once in her life time, become her mentor in some way and name Rachel as her other half – that the shooting star _shouldn't_ be coming _at _them, but moving away. It's a clear fact that it should be happening. Her eyes widen and her lips part, the smile fading from her face like a sun hiding behind the rainclouds.

This can't be, can it?

Reality shows her otherwise, marks in big red broaches that there isn't a star in sight. She warily loses sight of everyone before her, because suddenly, it nears faster and faster and racecars have nothing on this alleged shooting star and speed becomes part of this story tail clashed in a book for infants compared to the rate of this one.

Could this story just end now, follow lineal with it's reign and 'they lived happily ever after' at last?

The footballing man of her dreams halts in his steps, squinting at the object in question as if it portrayed Quinn Fabray in full size. It's bigger now, even brighter. Brighter than thousands of Fabray's together.

That's when she hears a deafening scream.

_And they lived happily ever after._

**…**

It happens like a flash. _Like a blink_. It happens unexpectedly before eyelids touch, because the next blink blacks it all out.

There's thunder and screams and cries and she's numb. Then there's a face that she's never seen before and light falling ahead of her. It's a beautiful, blue white, warm light and she thinks that she's reaching out to it. There's blood and exhaustion and she's so completely still that she can't even hear her own name above all the sounds. But someone is calling and she is reaching out, and her fingers. Almost._ Almost_… Then there's falling minus rising and tears minus grief.

She's for the first time – after all that she has witnessed – surprised.

The world falls before her, breaks into pieces like her heart had prior done. Shatters like the ancient vase that slipped from her fingers when she was cleaning her house. And just like the shards, it lies immobile on the ground.

She _blinks_.

* * *

><p>Rachel wakes up in a white room.<p>

She's lying on this bed with her hands flat next to her and her eyes barley managing to open up. But when they do she's blinded by this vicous white light attacking her sight and her eyes snap just as fast close.

She exhales. It hurts. Even breathing hurts.

''Honey…''

Her eyes open, but not fully. They're not ready yet. She turns her neck ignoring the sting shooting throughout her body. It's a hard quest, but she succeeds. And then she sees him. ''Daddy?''

He smiles as an answer and she smiles back.

It doesn't look like a smile – it looks like nothing to be honest – but it's still there. The thought alone lingers in the room.

''I'm so glad you're awake!'' He moves forward to launch his self on her, but her dad is fast and grabs onto his shoulder before he nears any closer. Daddy shoots a curious look at his husband, wondering why he had stopped him from holding his daughter against his chest. Has he forgotten that they've almost lost her? It's a time for rejoicing and damn straight that he will.

When dad looks at him point blank, his eyes shifting from his husband to his daughter, realization finally dawns upon him.

She has just woken up and attacking her with hugs and kisses will only deem the pain to enlarge. ''Oh…''

Dad nods. ''Yeah.'' Hiram walks up to her bed side and lays a protective hand on her knee. He squeezes it lightly, barely able to make her feel. ''Baby, how are you feeling?''

She can't shrug so she settles for answering with a; ''Better.''

Talking hurts.

Her dads pick up. ''You're a fighter baby.'' Daddy says, brushing a soft thumb against her head. She relaxes. ''So strong…''

''What happened?'' She settles on asking.

They look confused, scared. Fearing that the accident might've given her memory loss. It hasn't. She's just in a daze. ''A meteorite attack.''

But this surprises her and shakes her all together.

Then, what the hell is she doing alive?

''_What?''_ Her squeaky voice asks instead.

Dad brushes his fingers against her knee, looking at her lovely. He's never been happier about something than seeing his daughter's chocolate eyes again. Nothing matters for him than this moment. ''At the football game?'' He asks, instead of telling. Wanting to know if she still remembers.

But she doesn't _really_ remember it.

She vaguely remembers something hitting her; she remembers the pain taking dishonest bites out of her flesh. The exact attack isn't in her mind – but the flash of light, the sparkle of lightening, and the voice calling out her name, is. It's like she's reaching out again. Her fingertips almost gracing light.

Does that even make sense?

''How could this –'' than it hits her like a ton of bricks caving from an avalanche. It slams her against a wall and pins her on her stands. Where are her friends? Why aren't they here? ''W – where's Kurt and Blaine?'' And, _oh God_. ''Where's Finn? A – and Sam, Noah, Brittany _–_''

''Calm down honey.'' Daddy reminds her, shushing her when she tries to talk again. ''One of these days you're going to swallow your tongue in if you keep talking like that.'' He humorously puts in. She closes her mouth, leaning back against her pillows. She can do what he asks out of her, but not for long. ''They're in the ICU.''

Something stings behind her eyes. ''_ICU?''_

Oh God no. No. No. No. No. No. No.

Daddy nods sadly. ''They're going to be alright.'' He tries reasoning. The sting feels familiar. Does it taste just as salty as it did before? Feel just as hopeless as it did prior? ''Kurt has luckily only suffered a minor black out, a few scars and bruises, as does Blaine… But the others, the ones on the field…'' He exhales. He needs to fetch the words. She doesn't think she'll be able to hear them. Take them like a man. ''Baby, they suffered the _most_.'' His voice cracks like it's one of his children going underneath surgery. He can't say it without blinking back his tears.

And she can't listen without feeling pain.

She shakes her head, a lump forming in her throat. She swallows, once, twice. It won't go. ''How do you mean,'' thrice. It's still there. '''Suffered the most'?''

''Don't scare her Leroy! She needs to focus on her own health right now.'' Hiram scowls.

What she needs is the truth.

''Would you rather have me lie to her instead?'' Leroy bites back, narrowing his eyes.

Hiram shrugs. ''It could've been better.''

It wouldn't. It really wouldn't. She doesn't know what she's capable of if she figured out that they lied to her or held back any information.

''Just tell me the truth.'' She pipes up, raising her eyebrows as far as she can, which is not far. Perhaps it never even moved. Maybe it's her mind saying 'it moved', shoving an illusion down her throat, because sometimes it's fun messing with the victim. ''What's happening to them?''

Daddy breathes in. His eyes momentarily moving to the ceiling and as he breathes out his eyes shift back to their former position. Looking right at her. ''Operation.'' Her breath hitches in her throat. Almost suffocating. ''As I said they're going to be fine.'' He says right afterwards. ''It's just… All of them – they've been harmed. But so have you.'' She looks utterly helpless. He shakes his head as he looks down at her. She thinks he regrets telling her the truth. ''Your father is right. You need to focus on your own health right now.''

She knows she should.

But oddly she feels like it's her duty to know if they're alright. And she just can't take comfort in the little that her father has told her. She needs to hear all of their voices, see all of their faces and feel all of their touches for prove. It kind of is her duty as the female lead of their Glee club.

They depend on her. She can't fail. Not while they need her the most.

**…**

**Next, chapter two.**


	2. White room

**…**

**Heroes**

**…**

She had a dream.

She's a little skeptical of calling it a dream because most people would refer to it as a nightmare.

But she calls it a dream.

It happens shortly after her dads went out to call a doctor. She's been getting tests, little requirements to see if she's completely healthy, if the attack hasn't left any personal, permanent damages on her. And so far, with the little blood that they've taken, flashy lights across her eyes, and simple questions they've proposed, they have found none. She's not diagnosed with amnesia, or anything that could halt her future as a star.

That's good news.

Managing to fall asleep after battling her mind over the thought if her friends are going to be alright is a good thing too. She has settled with what her fathers have told her. They _will_ be alright and she _will_ see them soon. They're alive and well and just waiting for her at the corner of this room. And now she's required to be more selfish; focus on her own health, on her own being, instead of selfless. Which is a new thing for her. Rachel Berry_ obliged _to be selfish. They'll knock on her door by the end of the week – proposing that they share the Regionals song and do more than slight harmonizing (she won't share of course).

But the dreaming is something else _entirely._

She has never had any nightmares.

Perhaps once, when she was still young enough to wear diapers, she dreamt about scary clowns and the boogieman living underneath her bed. She might have dreamt about cats with long claws or barking dogs that would just love to sink their teeth into her harmless skin. That's a might, she's not sure.

But as far as she knows – right now – as a teenager, even with all the bullying that she had to endure or the emotional obstacles she had to overcome, she's fairly sure that she never had any nightmares.

This has been her first.

It never started off as a nightmare, though. But she suspects that a lot of nightmares never really start of scary. Just slightly different than normal dreams; with achy chills and uncontrollable physical oscillations.

Hers began slowly.

She was wearing a white summers dress – a beautiful, angelical white dress – it brightened her curves and gave her this far more ladylike structure than she's used to. Her hair was in loose curls, hanging all the way down her back, as her hands inclined gently next to her sides.

She's been alone for a while. Just standing there, gazing over a grayish lake, looking content and peaceful. It has been a while since she's felt so at ease. Since the world didn't appear as a dark void to her. Contrary, this was it for her; greatness. _Satisfaction._ She _needs_ those two sentiments. Call it a drug addict in need of his medication. Call it desperation seeking cure.

But that took all in all approximately two minutes before everything turned upside down.

She was screaming all of a sudden, running away. The sky darkened and the greenish grass beneath her feet earned a disgustingly color of gray. It took a haunting path. Every time her feet touched the grass and parted waves, it withered away. Like, she was carrying enough evil within her to turn saint into sinner.

Something was following her with its hands reached out, barley brushing her hair. Nails gracing her neck every time it tried to grasp a hold onto her locks. And as it lost its numerous battles, it relished into coming back in full force. Stronger than before, braver than seconds ago as the claws _almost_ deepened into her skin and drawled out a lustrous red.

And its lips whispered things like; 'Come to me,' as its feet pondered onto the ground. 'Stay here, Rachel,' his mouth uttered lowly. 'Come to _me._'

Her anxiety sheltered within her screams; voiced through her closed lips.

When she jerks awake, sweat trailing curvy lines across her forehead, a jab of pain shoots throughout her left side. Her hand instantly flies to her ribs to grasp the subject in matter as she bends over, moaning softly. Secretively – kept from the outside world, and foundered deep within her mind – she thinks that the inevitable attack has left more damage than the doctors dare to say; both physically and mentally.

Her lips withhold another set of moans as her head cups up, eyes slowly gazing through the room.

There's no one here and in the middle of the night she's most certain that there's no one walking through the dim lighted hallways. She doesn't know why she proceeds to pull the sheets of her body and dangle her legs over the edge of the bed, but she's not opposed to her actions either.

Her hands push her of the bed, eyes clenching shut the moment her tippy-toes touch cold ground.

**…**

Rachel walks into his room, closing the door behind her.

It's stupid, really. What she's doing is just… _stupid_.

But her legs don't agree as they move forward and her hand softly, tingly mutters otherwise as it hikes up his leg.

It's strange that she chose him of all people to come to. It's almost unexplainable why he's the first one to cross her mind out of them all.

Maybe it's because his name was the first one to pop into her head the moment she left her room? Or perhaps it's because she walked through the hallway and his name was the first one on the many doors to claim her attention? Or just… could it just be… perhaps she just needed to know if he's alright?

He deserves somebody like that. Someone who'd think about him in the middle of the night and head up to him. Because they think he needs them. Because they _want_ to see him.

He's a good boy. He deserves that.

Her hand trails light patterns on his sheet; circles, triangles, crooked lines, as it slowly moves up to his head.

She looks at his face. His radiation oozes tranquility, as the scar on his forehead does little to nothing to block out his handsome features.

He's just lying there motionless and Rachel wonders what kind of life altering operation they had given him. Has he broken something? Or needed something… _new?_ Or oh God, what if he lost the ability to ever football again?

She wouldn't even wish something like that on her wickedest enemy. Because losing the main aspect that could bring a person to their dreams – it's like ripping their heart and soul out.

And what is a person without his heart and soul? What is she without her voice and significant talent? Exactly – _nothing_.

She exhales a bit tiresome, before taking another step forward; trading her left hand into his feverish hair while her thumb grazes his forehead as it settles on his temple, low beneath his treasures blond hair.

As she does so, an electric shock shoots through her veins. The impulse instantly claiming her full attention. She loses a part of her sanity – a part of her consciousness – as something drags her away from her position and pulls her like a dog on a leash across a busy road. She_ thinks_ she splutters and hits and pulls attempts to break free. She _thinks_ she tries to scream, shout, and call out for _someone's_ name.

She knows she's losing this battle.

And her eyes widen a millisecond as her breathe hitches in her throat.

_It looks painful. _

_And the sounds that Sam makes as the blows hit his face; moans, whelps, cries, she decides that it is painful._

_But he takes it all in. Because that's the kind of guy he is. He lets the pain consume him and sometimes when he sees a slight opening he will be pushing and stomping and crashing his fists against their skulls, because he likes those kinds of surprise attacks and enjoys the shocked expression his opponents would be sporting during it. _

_It's him. If it wasn't about justice, he would have never walked up to Karofsky and sucker punched him in the face. It's how he is. Fighting is his way of getting a point across. Trying to make a blunt statement. But he seems to be losing this battle right now, as his feet disjointedly tremble beneath him. There's no opening this time. Not a gap, not a slight mistake. Not anything._

_And there's so much blood and so much crashes and stomps and people everywhere, talking, screaming, and whooping. It's another blow so powerful that has him falling against the lockers. A thumb enlightening mesmerizingly from the cold iron as it causes her to jump._

_Breaks her out of her volatile trance._

Her body gets pulled back out of oblivion and her eyes instantly shift over the dim lighted room, trying to funder where she is now. As her gazes falls to the hand attached to his forehead she instantly pulls it away. As if he's carved out of flames and she's this inflammable wood soaked into gasoline. Her feet reluctantly take a step backwards, frowning tightly as a sting of pain bites into her side.

What just happened?

''Rachel?'' A groggy voice calls out.

She clenches her jaw stupendously.

Her eyes slowly move over his face, drinking his every feature in as her tongue darts out and wets her bottom lip.

While she stares at his exhausted, confused – and unknown of his whereabouts – face, Rachel brings her left hand to her chest and places it protectively over her heart.

She acknowledges him, because right at this moment, she doesn't know what else to do. ''Sam…'' She hesitantly takes another step backwards. Fear digging its claws into her bones. ''You're awake.''

He looks at her, through the haze of the dim lighted room with those hazel confused eyes of his, a crease forming on top of his forehead.

''I was asleep?''

**…**

She takes a moment to search for that little bit of tranquil hiding underneath layers of fear before she responds, ''Yes, you _were_.'' She rubs her hand with her right palm. Her breathe leaving her mouth in slow wisps. She keeps reminding herself how to breathe and how to blink. But incoordination somehow takes control.

He just looks at her, she can't look at him (it's kind of sad), before settling on releasing a painful moan.

''Where am I?'' He pipes up, turning his head slightly upwards. He moves in his bed, squinting in a lame attempt to pin-point where he might be.

She inhales, finally bumping against something hard. ''I – I…'' She shakes her head, as though the words would all fall into place if she does so. ''In a hospital.'' Her hands move to hold the hard material behind her. Grasping it until her knuckles turn ghostly white.

She exhales. _Keep breathing, Rachel._

''_What?'' _He asks, his hands lying flatly beside him as he tries to push himself up. It works. But he looks weak and pale and his arms tremble as he leans on them. His body shivers as he frowns and he keeps squinting, as if magnifying his eyes will only hurt. ''How'd I come here?'' She has to sharpen her ears if she wants to hear him talk. ''What happened?'' He clarifies after a minute when she doesn't answer him.

She doesn't really know what happened, but she tells him what her fathers have told her, because that's all there is to it. ''A meteorite attack.''

He whips his head back so fast; the anguishing moan he releases is no doubt worthy. His hand flies to the back of his neck, rubbing slow circles to comfort it. ''What the fuck?'' He lies down, moving deeper into the cushions beneath him. The expression on his face as he watches her is both disbelieve and confusion.

She gets him. She feels like that too. If there was somebody standing beside her bed and telling her the same thing, they would have received the same look.

She looks around, hands gripping the material tighter. It stabs into her palms, undoubtedly leaving red marks.

Anxiously, Rachel tries to look everywhere but him. But she can feel his stare burning holes into her skin as if he's waiting for something. Waiting for her to say anything.

When did she get so scared to talk?

''How did it happen?'' He finally settles on asking.

She shrugs. Because she really doesn't know. Once it was a falling star asking for a wish, now it's a disguised meteorite asking for lives.

It's confusing.

He lets his neck go, his head falling limp against the pillows.

''How are the others? You know…'' He coughs a little bit, saying a few names of the students in their Glee club, as if she didn't know whom he meant with 'others'. He looks at her again, this time his eyes roam over body as he frowns concernedly. ''How are you?''

She exhales at his questions. How _is_ she? Fine? Good? Better?

She's better.

''Better.'' She replies, her eyes shifting up to meet his. ''I don't know about the others though.'' Her grip finally relaxes, both arms coming to cross over her chest as she leans against the railing. It picks at her back. ''I just woke up.''

She thinks he nods as he looks around him, darkness plaguing his sight. ''How late is it?''

She shrugs, again. ''I – I don't know… Maybe two AM or even three.''

''So, wait… _You_ just woke up… Where you like…_ comatosed_ or sometin'?'' She doesn't deny, he continues. ''But wait, if you were… doesn't that mean that I've been gone too? _Oh fuck!_ Did my parents come? How long have I been sleeping? Where the hell is everyone, anyway?'' By the time he's done ranting she's already standing next to his bed while her hands hold his arms to prevent him from leaping out of the bed.

But it's hard. He's just woken up and he's still strong enough to produce energy.

She envies him for his strength. Standing right next to his bed she feels like a vase hovering on its edge – one slight push can shatter her. But here he is, easily producing enough energy to push a human being aside.

''Sam, calm down.'' It's such a lame attempt, trying to sooth him out of his mad ways. It doesn't even work.

''Screw that!'' He grunts out, successfully moving out of her grasp. He jumps out of the bed. But as soon as his feet hit the ground something painfully shoots throughout his body, backing him up against the bed. He turns around abruptly, his hands flying to the railing.

His eyes clench shut and re-open, making a rhythm of his own.

He doesn't feel good.

She forgets touching him could lead to that agonizing moment where reality escaped her view, as she moves as fast as she can to the other side of the ruffled up bed. Her hands find his back almost wonted, her fingers rubbing soothing circles on his spine. He's so tense. ''Relax Sam.'' And she forgets selfishness and almost entirely becomes selfless, because he needs someone right now and she's there. Here.

She sooths him, shushing motherly as his back trembles against her hand.

It's like trying to reassure an infant.

He breathes heavily in and out, his blond locks moving across his face. ''What the hell _really_ happened to us?'' His eye lids helplessly snap shut. ''What happened to me?''

''I – '' she looks down at his hunched form, his fingers fisting the sheets. He needs the truth. And she tells him what her father has told her, because that's all she knows. ''You were on the field when the attack happened.'' He nods. He remembers that. ''The people on the field… T – they suffered –'' she inhales. Lately she needs so much more air if she intends to stay on both of her feet. _''The most._ From what I have heard, you're lucky to still be alive._''_

''Fuck.'' He bites out. He cups his head slightly upwards, turning around. She removes her hand instantly off his back, pulling it to her side where it's save. ''Shit. I – I could've died?'' He leans against the bed, re-opening his eyes. He swallows tightly, his Adams apple bobbing up and down. ''I don't feel good.'' He grunts out.

''Neither do I.'' Rachel pipes up, looking down at him. He moves a hand up to his forehead, his fingers tracing his face. When they stop at the scar left of his forehead, he settles on a frown. ''It feels like my head is exploding.'' She tells him. He drops his hand, like he's listening to her, for real. ''I feel exhausted and scared.''

He leans behind, presses his back harder against the railing as his hands balance his body.

''I want to see the others.'' He mutters, looking at her to get his point across. His greenish eyes trace hers. They're pale, he's pale. ''I want to see how they're doing.''

When she doesn't answer and instead makes her way to the door, he has to practically hop his way over to her.

And because he's the nice boy that protects everyone, she offers her shoulder for him to lean on, because sometimes the strongest need people too.

(She's in pain too, but she's willing to take one for the team.)

**…**

She vaguely hears the sounds of machines ringing through the hallway. Some doors lay open as she catches glances of people lying in their beds. Some at an elderly age waiting for death to grant them exit to another world, others sick from a disastrous ill; dry coughs breaking out of their throats. And then there are those wounded from accidents that have taken place. She bets that the meteor attack has the biggest blame to this. Well, at least in _her_ book the meteorite attack _deserves_ most of the blame.

She averts her eyes from a wrinkled old man.

''We should close the doors.'' Rachel says. She adjusts his arm on her shoulder. Blowing out a soft breath when she feels a sting of pain catch up on her. ''I don't want them to wake up.'' She continues through gritted teeth.

''They won't.''

''Why?''

He shrugs, as much as he can. ''They're probably hopped up on sleeping pills.'' She tears her gaze from the patients, moving her sight to his. He doesn't look at her. Somehow whatever is ahead of them seems more fascinating to him. Or maybe he's trying to avoid her gaze because his eyes speak volume and he just might not be ready for that kind of statement.

She nods, eyes following his train of look. ''I would still feel better if we closed their doors. I can't stand seeing… I can't… I just can't.''

He seems to pick up on her lack of words.

Because Rachel Berry never,_ not_ knows what to say.

And freakily, he gets her.

''It's scary. I know it is.'' He swallows around his words, moving his weight on her shoulder. He's heavy, but she can take it. ''I hate seeing people like this too.'' He breathes out a sigh. ''I can't stand the thought of not being able to do anything for them… It's like they're dying before my eyes…'' He shakes his head. ''You think the others are here too?''

''Yes.'' She nods. ''I think so…'' She chews her lip, both taking the very first right corner. She looks up at him beneath her lashes, before her gaze travels down, shyly. ''My grandma died.''

Sam quirks his eyebrow up, but settles on letting her speak. It's like he knows that she needs to talk without someone interfering.

It's quite nice.

''She died a peaceful death in a hospital. But still… I know. But I can't… and I just –'' she breathes out. ''I can't stand hospitals or seeing someone like that… _this_… I can't. It's just too much. It reminds me of how impotent we humans can be.''

''At least you know that's she's in a better place now.''

When she weakly smiles his way, he can't help but return the gesture.

His eyes travel from her face over to her head at another open door behind her and as his feet stop in their walk, Rachel gets jerked along with him.

She looks confused. ''Why did you stop?''

''Look.'' He juts his chin over her head.

Rachel puts his arm gently off her shoulder, turning around and narrowing her eyes at an open door.

She gasps, a sting shooting through her chest.

Painfully, swallowing more than thrice, she says; ''That's…''

''Yeah.'' He mutters back. ''It is.'' She wants to pull him away from here, but he reacts fast even while hopping. He clenches his aching leg and struts its way – ungracefully – towards the door. Her hand's left hovering in the air, stationed at the place he used to stand.

''We shouldn't…'' She starts.

But he doesn't listen when she tries talking him out of it and she won't try when her gaze flickers from him, to _her_. As he steps through the door she accepts that she has lost this unwilling battle and thus follows him to her archenemy.

He needs to see her. Rachel knows that.

She won't stop him.

(He wouldn't let her, anyway.)

He puts his hand on Quinn's bed the moment he reaches it, leaning against the hard frame as he takes little steps forward.

Quinn looks beaten up. Far more badly than Rachel's state. She has bruises all over her face and her cream complexion has fainted paly. Her arm is in gypsum and her body lies numbly on the hospital bed while her chest slowly rises up and down in a peaceful matter.

But strangely she doesn't really look alive, even if her breathing proves differ.

Looking at Quinn, Rachel just knows that she's among the lucky ones.

Then his hand reaches her still faintly beautiful face, knuckles cherishes her cheek, his index finger and middle finger lingering on Quinn's pinkish lips as he looks at her. Just looking.

She feels like she's intruding on a private moment, yet she can't bring herself to walk away as she crosses her arms over her chest.

''You know.'' She says at his back, breaking the little bonding moment between him and the unconscious body. ''This might sound bad… But I never thought about her.'' Rachel looks down at Quinn, her eyes shifting slowly. It's the wrong moment and the wrong time to show contempt, but just seeing him there with her… it brings something out of her. It's not entirely bitter, but not happiness either. ''I knew she was… _there_.'' There as in; the scene of the crime, there as in; in the stands. There as in; rooting for Finn before the attack. She breathes in, taking a daring step forward. ''I thought about everyone… _even Santana_.'' She grimily goes on.

His fingers trail her dry, lumpy lips, left and right.

''But Quinn… She never even crossed my mind.'' She blows out an exasperated, haughtily laugh. ''You must think I'm evil.''

It sounds horrifying. But it is the truth. And it's strange because a moment like this, cruel verity should be hidden until everything goes back to normal again, but she's not hiding.

She doesn't _want_ to. Does that make her a bad person? Maybe.

He nods, understanding it as he turns his face up to meet hers. There are no tears. No sorrow. Just, confusion and some kind of shock. ''I get it.'' He really does. He really_, really_ does. ''She's done some…'' He laughs lowly. ''_Fucked up_ things to you.''

Yes, she has. Rachel has the bathroom stalls, stored emails and crumpled up notes as evidence if anyone wants to see some cold, severe facts.

''She did some nasty shit to me too. Probably to everyone.'' She thinks about Quinn cheating on him and she knows, as his eyes get this uneasy glint, that he's thinking about the same thing too. ''I just… It's Quinn… You know?'' She doesn't know.

He looks back down at Quinn. Removing his hand from her face.

''She's like, _invincible,_ yeah a whole lot of crazy… but still, she came back for more. She always comes back for more. Just like how you never let anyway get you down.'' He continues. She shakes her head a bit, denying. She's nothing like the Blonde. Doesn't even come close. ''And you are still standing here… okay, granted, you're not completely _Rachel Berry-dare-to-abase-me-and-you'll-suffer, _right now.'' She smiles, softly. Trying to show understanding, when she actually doesn't comprehend. ''But you're still standing… and I guess, I expected… I expected Quinn just not to be –'' He's at a loss of words. But he speaks up nevertheless. It's like he needs to get this out, some way or another. ''If you could do it, I thought she might too, you know?''

''Yeah.''

''Why did it even happen? I mean.'' He sighs, stepping backwards. ''How could _this _happen? It's like, impossible isn't it?''

It kind of is.

Really.

She never bought the attack as a completely one in a_ billion_ chance occurrence. Her mind can't believe it, her heart isn't in it and it's just, something doesn't add up. She misses something, she thinks it's an important detail right underneath their noses, but they can't smell it. They have no idea how to sense it.

''I don't know how it happened.'' She walks up to him until she's standing right next him and her hand envelopes into his, throwing his arm loosely over her shoulder. He leans in against her, ''and I… honestly. I'm not going to just recover – move on with my life and put everything behind me.'' She shakes her head, as though, brushing all those options off. They're just not good enough for her. She needs something bigger – more reasonable. ''I need to _at least_ know how likely it is to have a meteorite attack in the middle of Lima Ohio.''

When he looks at her, like she's out of her mind – crazy – and just looking too much into an accident, she's utterly surprised when he says; ''I'll help you.''

They stay a while longer in Quinn's bright white room, settling upon staring at her unconscious body; at the _prior _unconquerable girl.

**…**

**Next, chapter 3.**


	3. Oh unbeliever, why you so mad?

**…**

**Heroes**

**…**

The hospital releases her two days later, while Sam still obliged for some tests, has to stay for another day or two.

During her last day at the hospital she's come to find not only Santana _and_ Kurt, but also Finn. She's relieved honestly, utterly overjoyed, because seeing them has her all flustered and happy and she wonders when she's ever stopped smiling again.

She has seen Finn once while residing at the hospital. He's alive, awake, and despite his withdrawal moments (he's only doing it because he's emotional), he's still the same sweetheart of a boy that had stolen her heart the minute his lips opened as he sang the words to 'You're the one that I want', had rejoiced their little Glee club with his gentle vocal capacity, and let her in, in his make-shift hierarchy of a world.

But she noticed that the whole time during her visit, his eyes were shifting uncomfortably away from hers. And she wasn't that oblivious to the awkwardness hovering in the room.

When she asked him what's wrong, he reluctantly asked her his burning aching question that's been tainting to fall of his lips ever since she stepped foot in his room with her undying relieved smile. And even though he made his question sound as nonchalantly as possible – she knows he _does _care.

He asked about Quinn, and that only stung a _little_ bit.

She nosily inhaled like it was going to take a lot out of her to bare the truth. It kind of did. But it took more out of her to keep her hands to herself and withhold her body from comforting him when the news flew from her lips and he hovered on the edge of breaking down.

She's lost that right a long time ago. But she thinks that the main reason of not touching him, not even extending a pinky, is because of fear. Fearing that the moment they touch she'll experience the same thing she felt while touching Sam. She can't explain it; she can't even believe her own mind. But all that she knows, all that she can explain, is how she felt afterwards. Helplessly, ripped apart.

Why did she even see what she saw?

Finn's been crying and swearing a lot since the news, and even though the profanities are giving her headaches… she never lets herself tell him to cool it down.

He needs a little release – an escape from everything – and some may settle on punching things, crying their eyes out or giving the ones that care about them the silent treatment. Finn, instead, settles on swearing and profaning everything that means something to the world. He can't kick chairs, like he used to, if the crutches have any say in this.

But his lips, is all that he still controls.

Maybe he feels like the world is ripping something that he loves away from his grasp and the least they could do is let him curse all that they love and pollute all that they care about until he feels the least satisfied – it's sort of like pay-back. It's nothing like ripping a loved one out of their hands, though. But it is something, nonetheless.

It's funny that out of all their friends whom could possibly be in a coma, fate directed Quinn to that position. Rachel never lets her mind tell her that its karma kicking Quinn's butt and neither does she let her lips reveal her thoughts to Finn. She keeps it to herself when something burns in her heart as he tears down for Quinn – never for her – and she swallows the lump in her throat down when he whispers Quinn's name like he's in need for her golden locks and pinkish lips with that devious smile attached to it – it's his drug, he's an addict. She never tells him that he might need rehabilitation, just in case… just in case his drug won't come back. And he doesn't need to know anyways.

She does, however, reveal it to Sam.

She's bitter and angry and she's just a whole lot of broken pieces. She rants about the fact that Quinn has Finn even if she's mentally away from his grasp. The fact that he loves Quinn enough to shut Rachel out of his life _even_ if she's still the only one there for him after their horrendous break-up (she's always there for him). It might be his silent plead for help; _'Gimme Quinn, or no one else will talk to me ever again'_.

She's disgusted, bitter and angry and selfish and frankly she doesn't care if it makes her look pathetic or not.

Sam never judges her.

She hates it that Quinn has this nail clawing grip on Finn – she's attached to him by the hip. She can't stand the thought that Quinn might be looking down at them in a weird ghostly trance as she points her finger out, Rachel at the end of her nail, with that smile of hers. With this heart-wrenching smile. Only pushing the knife deeper into her heart and reminding her of what she cannot have. Of what she has never had.

Her own nails dig into her palm and her eyes redden as the prickling of her unshed tears burn at the back of her eyes.

Sam_ understands_ her.

He soothes her and scoots over to let her sit on his hospital bed. He accepts her when she puts her head on his pillow behind them, and finally releases a few tears. She never touches him – and he doesn't mind. He never touches her, because she told him not to. They never touch each other, yet he comforts her in more ways than one.

Before she leaves the hospital on her last day, she gives him her number and tells him; ''Call me as soon as you get released. We can pick a place and a time for our investigation.'' It sounds very detective-like, and he looks at her confusedly with that look that some people shoot her when she rants out about the fact that she is a star, that Broadway does need her and that she's better than _all_ of them.

He genuinely half smiles throughout his confusion.

Arriving at her premises, getting a good night sleep and waking up with a smile on her face (because nevertheless what may have happened, the show must go on) she stands up and proceeds to do her morning routine.

Life bitch slaps her in the face the moment she turns her TV on and she's met with a news reporter standing right in front of her school.

She knows about the accident (she has the broken ribs for prove) and she is well aware of the lives that have been taken away. But when someone puts it into statistics; stating it, revealing the horrendous crime scene and proceeds to name all the things that have happened, _one by one._

It's enough to make or break a person.

Rachel _crashes_.

Sobs break out of her throat and her heart aches as her body hunches over. It moves instantly, in a flash she's got her knees up against her body and her lips cracking out sobs. She's holding her legs close to her chest and the couch because her substation, the only thing that she is willing to touch and willing to accept as assistance.

As her dads stroll into the living room, their eyes nearly bugging out of their eyes sockets when they see her, their first thought is helping her. They think that the accident is plaguing her mind, that the memories of the occurrence is eating her alive. It _is _though. It _is _consuming her alive. But it's not the _only_ thing taking turns at hitting her. And she moves backwards, using her feet to help her, as they step closer. She wards them off with her own hands, when theirs dart closer and screams when they try talking to her.

Her hands fly to her ears, shielding her hearing from all the sounds. It's taking little bites out of her skin, digging knifes into her flesh and carving patterns for memories – for scars to stay for a life time. It wants to tell her that she's been there, that it has happened, and even if she may grow and surpass it, it's going to be on her skin. Itching her for all eternity. And all the while she chants; ''Leave me alone. Leave me alone. Leave me alone.'' It becomes an endless song to the new chapter of her book. Her lips crack out sobs in between the words as her eyes stay clamped shut.

It goes on for minutes – _hours _– straight. Even when the reporter has long ago been replaced with the weather man, even when her dads have settled for leaving the room to give her some time alone, even when she receives a text and her mobile phone beeps twice loudly to alert her. Even, afterwards, even after the sequential sting in her side. She never stops crying. And the sobs cracking throughout her throat and leaving her lips in blows, become louder at every passing minute.

She finds comfort in her own arms wrapped around her body and her face buried in her knees as her back gets rubbed gently by the cushion lying behind her.

(She _doesn't_ need anyone to touch her.)

**…**

'_11:03 am: They released me.'_

'_11:03 am: It's Sam btw.'_

Rachel twirls her mobile phone in her hands, staring at the shine white blackberry as the crystals reflect her facial structure within its glistering.

She's been waiting to talk to him for a while now. Certain of her case that she'll do anything to sooth that little voice inside her head that simply seems to get louder with each passing tick. It's a voice that whispers; _'something's wrong,'_ and it exalts into screaming when she disobeys to follow the orders.

Somehow, in some weird way, in a world where voices in a head take the shots – it tries to will her to investigate the proceedings and tantrums her into an indecisive mess.

And it sort of exceeds in its quest.

But now, sitting on her bed crumpled up tissues lying beside her and her mind clouded with the thoughts of innocent teenage lives and several of grownups that have been taken away in just a flash of a meteorite – she's not so sure that she's still adequate enough to go on.

She's restless, sad, confused and all of these emotions mixed together crave doom; hungry for disarray. It's the things that she might figure out during her search for answers that could throw everything completely out of balance. It's what lies behind the accident that could be so destructive. It's the emotional message that lies behind her quest. Against her will, she'll be helplessly forced to think back to the accident.

But she's not ready yet to ask her body for so much.

She's not sure that she is strong enough to live with the 'what ifs' surfing throughout her head either ('what if she could solve everything? What if the answers lay in hand reach? What if this could rest the erring souls? What if Finn would show his forever gratitude and take her back? What if? What if? _What if?'_) Because if there lays a possibility – even yet so small – that something wicked hides behind the disaster that happened on their football field, doesn't she at least owe the people who have died, some kind of honest completely filled with fact, justice? Has she not signed up for that the moment she chose to dedicate herself into researching the cause of the meteorite attack?

She presses her eyes shut, flashes of fire and land eruptions clouding her sight. And it's like she's right there again. Her ears fill with screams and crashes as she sees and even _feels_ the anxiety of her peers. They're scared, just like her. Tainted with blood and pain. It's like she's falling all over again and there's no one there to catch her as her body disappears within the destruction.

She gasps for breath when her eyes snap open.

There were more people in the same position where she had been.

She _owes _them this as a survivor.

Rachel grabs her phone between both her hands rapidly typing a message back;

**'**_**11:45 am: Meet me at the local library in ten minutes.'**_

She clicks send without looking back and sticks her cell phone back inside her pocket.

It takes a lot out of her to leave her house. It even asks more out of her, as it wills her to revisit what happened nearly two days ago. She needs to swim deep in order to grasp what has sunken and push it to the surface.

She's not ready yet though, because what if she drowns?

**…**

She steps into the familiar building, the smell of books filling her nose. The inside of the building concedes of wooden walls and shelves full of colored books, a desk at the far end of the library and tables at each corner of the space; hiding readers from face value.

She takes a few steps forward, eyes glazing around her as she tries to spot Sam. When she looks at the right of her side at a table in a faraway corner, she sees the boy in question looking into a thick brown book, while circa ten books lay scattered around the table.

He flips over the pages.

He's early. That's a first ever for a boy (Finn never came early).

She smiles slightly, her anxiety slipping away as she heads up to his table. Rachel tugs a strand of her hair behind her ear crossing her arms underneath her chest as she coughs a bit to claim his attention.

It works. Sam moves his head to look at the intruder, pressing his eyes into slits as he purses his lips.

When he recognizes who's standing before him he gets a small smile on his face and a light glint in his eyes. ''Hey, you came.'' He sounds a bit surprised. Perhaps thinking that the confession in the hospital was just a heat in the moment kind of thing.

It wasn't.

She nods, proving him otherwise. ''Yes, I told you we would do this, didn't I?''

He smiles again as a reply, moving his eyes back to the book as he lightly ticks on the paper.

Rachel moves to his right side, tugging a chair from the table with her and placing it right next to his before taking a seat. He looks focused, his lips pressed together and his eyes move along the lines. He's reading in a rapid motion, engraving all the words he comes in contact with, in his mind.

It's strange to think that this boy has dyslexia when he performs otherwise.

Apparently a condition says nothing about the performance.

''Look.'' He says, his index finger pointing at a line.

She moves over, frowning in thought. ''What is it?'' Rachel mutters, narrowing her eyes as she stares down at the sentence. ''Is it about the meteorite attack?''

''No_… well_… yeah, kind of?'' He seems to think of it, before shrugging. ''Just read it.''

She does, reading the line out loud. '_''During the ancient time where civilization knew no laws and fire was created by the use of stones – the world would look at the heavens for rules. But unknowingly, during their time, they had the displeasure at witnessing the birth of a meteorite_ – Sam, seriously what is this?''

What is he going at?

''We need to stop joking around and search for _real_ information.''

''You're not done yet… read it all.''

She cocks her eyebrows up, flickers her gaze to his stare.

She doesn't know what to think of this. She can't grasp a coherent retort.

Sighing, she decides to continue reading. '_''According to their law the meteorite contained essences of the universe, and had traveled time and space to search for the fewer souls worthy enough to obtain parts of the universe_ – good God.'' She mutters, rolling her eyes. Sam nudges her to continue. She breathes in, stating the absurdness of it all in her mind. '_''It says,_'' she grumpily continues. '_''That these souls are obliged to take over its tasks, until the next meteorite erupts within the sky_ – you don't seriously believe this, do you?'' She asks him, as she reaches the ending of the sentence.

He shrugs – it's a yes and a no.

She's come to the conclusion that every moment spent with her inflicts him with a less sanitized coherent thought. Noah always told her that her crazy was a portable disease.

''You know Sam, this is a _Myth_. Myths don't speak verity. They're created by humans made _for_ the human imagination. It's like food for our endless thoughts.''

She doesn't want to kill his imagination – that's like telling an infant that Santa Clause doesn't exist, tearing their hope away when it's all that they have. But when it ascents to their heads, clouding their good minded judgment, they're in need for a serious reality check.

Sam needs a reality check.

''I know…'' He starts. ''A – and I'm not saying it's the truth.'' He leans back in his chair, gesturing a hand to the books scattered on the table. Those are his answers. ''It's just; I've looked in all of the books that have anything to do with meteorites or somehow contrast it… I came up with the same thing.''

''That a meteorite inflicted voodoo inside our bodies so we can be like what? – a good weapon to diminish evil souls?'' She sarcastically puts in. This even goes above all her standards. And believe her when she says that her standards are very high. ''Do you know how insane this sounds? For the love _of_ – I've always been called crazy, but if you believe this, I think I should step down the throne and do you the honors.''

He sighs, biting his lip as his gaze detains her face. ''Look, Rachel.'' He leans forward placing his elbows on the table. His hand is nervously stroking his hair. ''I'm not saying it's the truth just that – ''

''Just that everything leads to this point?'' She finishes for him.

Sam shrugs, nodding slightly. It's what he was going at. ''Well, yeah.''

She rolls her eyes. ''This is _absurd._ We need to look for _real_ information,'' she tells him again. ''Not silly Myths written by the hand of humans. We need to search in articles, newspapers, maybe even DVD's for possible former meteorite attacks. And besides_… if_ this book _was _right.'' And it's a big 'if', detained with a large 'was'.

She holds the thick material in both her hands, toying with the pages. ''How do you explain that neither of us are feeling different?''

''I've been feeling different.'' He answers honestly.

Lately she's been feeling a bit odd, too. She goes in to tell him, but the words never part from her lips.

''I didn't tell you…'' He looks away, like he's ashamed. ''Well, I didn't tell anyone,'' should she feel shocked that he's been keeping secrets from her when she's been doing it on her own too? ''But when I read this I just thought that maybe… maybe it's not so strange after all.''

She frowns as he goes on. ''I told you while we were still in the hospital about how I didn't feel good, remember?''

''Yes you did. And that's perfectly normal. All coma patients are a bit woozy in the beginning.''

He looks at her this time. He's annoyed with her.

''I still feel… strange.'' But she can't, she just _can't_ believe him. ''I know–what you're going to say 'it takes time to heal'–but it still doesn't add up.'' He licks his lips. '''I started feeling dizzy even when the doctor proclaimed that I had nothing going on. I felt dizzy and dehydrated and just sick… but I drank tons of water to stop that feeling – this feeling of want… it didn't stop. It never stopped.''

She rolls her eyes. This is frankly killing the time they have left to find logical answers. ''I drank much too,'' she pitches in. ''Doesn't mean anything.''

''In one day I finished eight buckets of water. _Eight! _That's not normal.''

She nearly chokes on the air that she's exhaling.

''Y – you were thirsty.'' She tries.

He shakes his head. ''It can't be only that.'' He pushes his chair backwards ensuring the furniture to slide noisily over the ground. The librarian shoots them an angry look, her eyes following Sam as he stands up and starts pacing around.

She looks up at Sam, feeling utterly disgraced. She's known in this library as an 'A' list young reader; she can't kill her respective status, because he was raised without any manners. ''You know, we're still in a _library _and authorized to tone are noises _down!_'' She hisses at him.

''I needed to bath, like _four _times a day.'' He continues as if she has not just tried to speak some sense into him. It infuriates her, but she won't comment. He makes small circles around his own ash still hopping slightly as he does so. ''I couldn't stop drinking… I'm even positive that I'd drunk _more _than eight buckets of water.''

She shakes her head. Maybe it was some kind of dream that felt incredibly real? Lately she's been having them, too.

''Sam. Like I have said, there must be a perfectly _normal _explanation for that.''

Borderline; it's not possible.

''And what if there isn't! – _shh!_'' He slams his hands on the desk, earning the librarian to shush him in a motion to silence him. But instead he settles for hissing back at Rachel in a low whisper, leaning his head closer to hers. His warm breathe tickling against her cheeks. Exhaling, but forgetting to breathe in. ''Rachel… w – what if we're not dealing with just an accident? What if it's something more?''

She can't believe that. It's just not possible. That weird unconsciousness moment that took place while she touched Sam has a perfectly logical explanation; Sam in need of tons of water has a healthy sanitized explanation.

It has nothing – _whatsoever _– to do with a Mythical book. Nothing to do with her nightmares, and certainly nothing to do with the meteorite.

He's delusional.

''It's impossible. Now, let it go.''

This time he's the one who frowns as he shoots her an exasperated look. ''You know… you of all people should've at least _consider_ this. If somebody would believe this, it should be you. You're the girl who wants Broadway even if half of Lima's population says that it's _impossible_…''

''That's different!''

''Not entirely!'' He bites back. The librarian slams her glasses on the table, openly glaring their way. He lowers his voice. ''Believe it or not, but both need a little suspended reality. We're both blindly grasping at straws here, can't you see it?''

She chews her bottom lip, inhaling and exhaling before turning her sight away from his as her eyes fall onto the books. She threads a head through her thick brown locks grasps it into a fist afterwards pulling it over her shoulder.

She's still not behind this.

But it won't hurt to at least _try_. ''What do you want to do?'' She asks him, touching the soft material of the paper. It feels like silk, really thin garment. ''How do you want to do this?''

He moves down, balancing his hands on the desk before sitting back on his original seat. ''You in?'' He asks her first, casting a fast glance.

And when she shrugs and grabs the book to place it in her lap, she tells him; ''Yeah.'' Because there's no harm in trying and there's no failing in never competing.

Rachel just hopes that she won't regret it.

**…**

They're sitting on the floor, she's leaning against a wall her legs Indian style, while Sam has his legs outstretched and his ankle lightly gracing her leg. He's looking through the photos of the meteors and reading the lines beneath the pictures – some really do have interesting allegations. She's holding the book on her lap, hunched over, as she reads the stories attached to the bluntly, darkish images. There are books scattered all around the floor and she's exhausted for spending almost over three hours in the library.

It surprises her that he's still here and that he's capable of sitting in a library without clawing his eyes out – she knows Finn would, she knows Noah would and she's got a little hunch that Brittany wouldn't even know what this place is.

Her lips part slightly as her gaze flickers from him back to the book. ''I've been feeling _different_ too.'' It sounds bitter leaving her lips. Like tonic. He looks up from his book but she doesn't grant him the pleasure of seeing her face while she confesses. ''I have these… larger than normal headaches…'' She toys with the end of the paper, her lips forming a thin line. The headaches have gotten worse; sometimes her head just gets _so_ incredibly hot. ''Not a whole lot, though… but different nevertheless.''

That's a lie. She has been feeling enormously different – it's not small, it's frankly quite big.

He exhales, nose flattering.

''And I had this nightmare… and it was _just_ a nightmare.'' Her finger traces the number six down at the end of the page. ''But shouldn't I feel like,'' She sighs, looking up from the book as though the answers might be in front of her. They're not, and this scares her the most. ''_Shouldn't_ I feel relieved knowing that it's a friction of my subconscious?'' Shouldn't she? ''I don't feel like that.''

''What happened in the dream?''

She shrugs, knitting her eyebrows together as she thinks back at the nightmare. It's hard thinking back at something that would be better left forgotten. It's like digging a coffin out of the ground; dirty and hard work. ''I can't really explain it.'' She looks over at him, pursing her lips. ''It was a chase. I – I was being chased down and…'' She closes her eyes, revolving her words into a question. In the hope that he might have the answers, ''did you ever had dream that felt so real, you're sure, without a doubt, that your experiencing it _authentically_?''

He seems to think about that for a while, the tip of his tongue hovering at the corner of his lips. He shakes his head resolute. ''Not really.'' He settles with a no. Knitting his eyebrows.

And she shrugs. She's definitely losing her mind. Maybe she's looking too deep into things, watching life through a Philosopher. She shouldn't be doing that. ''It was probably nothing –''

''Or maybe it means everything.'' He finishes. He seems to think that her dreams connect with the books he's reading, because he flips the pages over and reads over the lines. She looks down at him curiously, pressing her lips together.

She is waiting to hear what he wants to say – but truth be told – she would rather burry the book he's flipping through along with her confession. They shouldn't be among the living.

''What are you doing?''

''Watch.'' He flips another page over and points his finger at the head line. She moves over, tossing the book in her lap softly on the floor and crawling her way to his side. With her head bent to the book and her hair falling gently across her cheek tickling his nose, she squints to the pages.

Aimlessly he leans forward, his lips brushing against her hair as he tries to look at the book that he's been reading since she got here. It's fascinating, honestly, her eyes glaze over the page, the images, the lines; it carries a deeper meaning. But as her eyes move over the lines and her lips imitate the wordings, her head shakes at every passing word.

She knew it. She should have never confessed this to him.

''Sam…'' He hums in reply. ''You can't possibly… don't tell me you really believe this?'' She looks up at him, her hair moving to the side.

His eyes drink in her face, he seems to look at her longer than he's ever done. Finally he inhales, clicking his tongue as he moves a finger against the cover. ''It does add up, doesn't it?''

It kind of does. ''It explains even lesser than before!'' Her heart speeds in its beats against her ribcage, a prisoner trying to escape its life long sentence, fearing the lies blackening her insides. ''I mean – magic, unnatural creatures, just – _come on._ This is ludicrous.''

The beating in her heart escalates; _'set me free,'_ it would scream if it had the lips to speak. _'Don't pollute me any longer.'_

Sam's not done trying to convince her, she can see that. He wants to prove a point. And she lets him, for a moment she waits for him to explain.

''Just think about it, Rachel.'' He grabs the book tightly, moving it to his eye height. ''You're having dreams while being chased down and you've _never_ had a dream like that before, right? In here it stands the exact same thing that – ''

'_Stop it!''_ She stands up abruptly, threading a hand through her hair. It's one thing that he's making her read those stupid books, but trying to mark them as truth. It's just not right. And she can't wait for him to figure this out. That journey isn't worth making. ''I had one little dream, Sam. _One dream!''_ She takes a step backwards snapping her eyes shut.

Her head is heating up again. And this time it's like somebody laid a lighter up against her head while the strap of the bomb surrounded her hair. In any minute – she could explode.

''Just hear me out Rachel –'' she rubs her temples. ''In here stands – '' she exhales breathlessly, pressing her fingers solute. The bomb is ticking, soaring in her ears. ''The _exact _same thing. It even goes down into details.'' He moves up, leaning a hand against his knee as his finger traces the lines of the book. She inhales louder, her heart skipping a feverish beat. '_'The meteorite claimed her body as its own as it paved its way _–''

''Stop it. Stop it. Stop it! _Stop it_!'' Her eyes snap open, her fingers standing still.

She can't take it anymore.

It's too much. It's too much_. It's too much_. The accident, the book, the dream, her subconscious consuming her alive; it's too much. ''Enough.'' The familiar sting behind her eyes appears.

She breathes out.

As he looks at her, his words dying on his tongue, it's the first time that he looks sorry for what he's done.

She can't stay here. She can barely breathe properly.

''I need to leave.''

''But – ''

''No!'' She can't look at him as she grabs her things of the desk where she had put them the first time she walked through the library. ''This is nonsense. You're living I – in this fantasy world…'' Rachel grabs her keys, shaking her head. This is going to hurt her more than it hurts him. ''…You're in this little place where you think that magic and monsters and… whatever's, exist.'' She puts the keys in her pocket, taking her jacket of the back of the chair. He's insane. She can't deal with this; she's got her own mental health to take care of. ''I came here for answers… _logical _answers. Instead you fill my head with _this_.'' She gestures a hand to the books lying on the ground. She's not trying to mock him, but he seems hurt all the while.

And to think that for a moment there he almost had her.

''You have even gone so far that you've polluted your _own_ brain with these allegations.''

She shakes her head harder; he's completely losing his mind. And he can't even see it. She feels sorry for him, because someone needs to.

The librarian slams her book against the table, jerking up. ''Ssh! In heavens name, be silent!''

''Don't worry, I'm already leaving…'' Her gaze fastens on him, making sure that she's not showing any form of hesitation. It's that gesture that could be an opening for a person to change minds. It's _lethal_. ''I'm leaving.'' She firmly tells him.

Sam takes a step forward, looking genuine sorry. ''Rachel, wait. Just… we'll try over, okay?''

He's saying it to make her stay. But this, these proceedings, it's all too much. And his apologies might just not be enough, anymore. She may have said that she was in this with him (they're in this together) but there's only so much a girl can consume.

She shakes her head, twisting her scarf around her neck. Feeling the once deemed headache vehemently rising out of its comfy zone. She needs aspirins. ''I need to go home.'' He takes another step forward, but she extends a hand to fence herself in. ''I – I'll call you later, okay?''

As her lips have managed to keep him from moving forward, the thought crosses her mind that she might just not be using her phone to contact him any longer.

It's just too much crazy on top of the hectic that has already consumed her life. For heaven's sake – she has just survived a meteorite attack; she's still mourning after losing so many of her peers. She's still plagued by these constant headaches that occur right when she feels pressure building up in her… can't he see that this is eating her alive, too?

She can't take magic and monsters and 'we might be different because of the meteorite attack' right now. She needs the basics first; sleep and food.

She offers him a warm smile as consult, as a barrier for the truth.

But she thinks that he sees right through it before she got a firm enough hold of concealing it. He's got this scary thing where he just has to look at somebody to see the bareness of their soul.

He still offers her a nod in return as he crosses his arms over his chest. If she didn't know better she would have thought that this; not believing him, ignoring him, refusing to cooperate, didn't hurt him at all.

She_ does_ know better.

''Okay. _Cool.''_ Is his stiff reply.

**…**

**Next, chapter 4**


	4. Rachel's dream

**…**

**Heroes**

**…**

She looks into the mirror; jerking her head backwards and popping one aspirin into her mouth. Afterwards inclining her right hand around the bottled water, and engulfing a large gulp.

She feels _so_ sick.

She feels sick for leaving Sam alone in the library, for disposing the idea that something above reality could exist (would he have done the same, if she claimed his words, and he claimed hers?). For dismissing her fathers when they tried to talk to her, for ignoring that little voice in her mind that has gotten louder since the accident. She despises herself. She feels sick for so many reasons. And perhaps she thinks that the aspirins may annul all these feelings – excel the feeling in her chest and kill her headache during its fulfilling road. Eventually, suppressing that which does not belong in her body.

There are a lot now, she thinks, a lot of things that aren't right in her body.

She lays the bottle down on the sink, closing the cabinet where she had taken the pills from, before illuminating the light and stepping out of her bathroom.

She hopes for peaceful dreams.

**…**

''_Aah!''_

It's a chase. Rachel, the prosecutor, after the sounds.

Noises relieve from the room; loud grunts, falling equipment's, screechy voices. She can hear hoarse breathing through the thick hospital walls. Haunting throughout the air. She thinks that no one else can hear them. That she's the only one adequate enough to hear every shallow pitch.

What if someone expects her to fix this; chose her out of a meadow as the destined hook of grass?

(Could she really take on so much responsibility?)

She can hear the beeping of Quinn's life supporter – tick, tick, _tick_. Pushing time of like a pointer on a clock. She's relieved to say that's not too late, Rachel can still save her. However, hope soon diminishes in figures at the sight that follows before her eyes. She can't begin to explain the sentiment that's shooting throughout her chest – she can't explain the sight of Quinn in someone's _(something's)_ arms – it seemingly plagues her. She _can't _explain it, but it's still _there._

(Something tells her that it's happening for real.)

And when she finally reaches the door, everything around her is misty. Her hands are clamping the doorknob and turning it over and over, and over, and over, but it never juts a move. She's pushing against the hard material and her nails are clawing at the door like a cat who wants to be let inside. Eventually, after her fourth tries, she screams hard and shrilly, attempting to be heard. Her voice halts in its motion. As she searches for another effective way to be heard. Clenching her eyes shut, and re-opening them, she screams the name of her arch-nemesis as if the words have never tasted alienated leaving her delicate mouth, before.

The sight of something that belongs in her nightmare follows up shoot in the glass of the girl's room.

(She's slapped into astonishment.)

It grins; tooth bright and eyes clouded like the darkness of a midnight sky, minus the stars and an enlighten moon. Its body has an aura around him, this darkish kind of evil that hovers over him like a second skin. His face is roughed up, but he seems in no pain. As if the healed marks on his face and scouring skin are completely natural.

She doesn't know what to think. If she slapped herself really hard, could she wake up from this authentic dream?

It instantly, with its blinking bright teeth as valediction, vanishes from her sight. Her shock slowly reduces, evidently shaking her head vigorously as her tiny fists relish into pumping harder against the door, her lips uttering screams that enlighten tears to cross over her cheeks; the sense of loss, overtaking her fearsome emotion.

(Losing has never tasted so phantom.)

Arrogantly, Rachel raises her voice again and again, stubbornly exclaiming her name for another time. ''Quinn!'' _Please._

Nothing.

She's too late…

**…**

Rachel jerks awake. Her body shaking as the pants relieves her throat, squinting through the darkness, she pulls a hand over her face to wipe the sleep away.

_This wasn't an ordinary dream. _

The fear, the pain, the need to be there on time; it felt too real to be just a dream.

She feels the sweat tickling over her temple, her heart slamming against her chest in a peculiarly beat. Rachel swings her legs over the side of her bed, pushing her blanket of and aimlessly using her hand to search for her phone. Touching blindly in the darkness of her room.

When her hand touches a cold object lying on top of her cabinet, she grabs it firmly and proceeds to unlock it, vividly searching for his number in her contact list. As she reaches his glorious three lettered name including his number, her thumb hovers above the dial key.

Without thinking twice, she clicks the call button.

The phone rings over,_ once_.

This has three ways it could go – he could ignore her call because he hates her for leaving him in the library. He could pick up the phone – call her all the names in a dirty book because he hates her for leaving him in the library, or he could simply let her complete her rant, refuse to give his assistance as an act of humiliation _because_ he hates her for leaving him hanging in the library.

She sets her money on the first suggestion.

_Twice._

And she deserves it. Obviously. She deserves everything he wants to throw at her. How she reacted, how she behaved; dismissing him without a another thought, she deserves it. Asking him for his help when she's been dismissing his options, it's thoughtless, it's selfish. And if she's wise, she would be pressing the disconnect button right now.

(But, if he was in her place and someone threw those words into his face, wouldn't he be, even, a little bit skeptical?)

She's aware that this is selfish though; but for the life of her, shecan't bring herself to click the red button… because she _needs_ him right now.

(He would want her to call him.)

The third ring never comes, and as her breath hitches in her throat she waits until _after_ his 'hello' has died down to its last letter before saying; ''I need your help.''

It mollifies into silence at the other line.

**…**

''Are you sure about this?'' Sam wonderingly asks.

He's never said anything while she was explaining her dream and her reasons for going to the hospital; how silly it sounded but how scared she was, how realistic it felt and why she called him, why she can't live with the thought that something may truthfully happen and why she needs to be completely sure. He never cut her off during her rant – which is just a very chivalrous act to begin with. She doesn't know many boys who wouldn't want to stop her halfway through her rant, declare her for crazy, and kick her out of their cars.

She blames Sam for this, nonetheless. After the library she's been musing about magic and magicians and all of those artificial things that seemed so real when she was a whole lot younger. It's his fault that she brought those buried thoughts out of their well-made graves.

''Yes. I'm sure.'' She utters sternly.

He never judges her. He never insults her – even if he has every right to – he never even so much makes it sound like he was right, all along.

Because he _wasn't._

She's not going to say; 'He's not right, _yet_', because what they're about to do is just a way of easing _her_ troubled mind, it's not about proving anyone right or wrong. She's just going to go to Quinn's room, see her sleeping peacefully (she doesn't know if coma patients sleep peacefully, but she takes a guess anyway) and find her angelical face oozing serenity.

That's what's going to happen.

Nothing more – nothing less.

What she doesn't expect is to see Finn and Noah walking the opposite way of where they're going.

She hasn't seen both of them in a few days – Noah obviously longer. But he looks alright, beaten up, bruised, but all right.

She smiles the moment Finn catches her sight. It's just something he does to her. He brightens her day.

''Rachel?'' Finn halts in his walk, as does Noah. Holding his crutches tightly he asks; ''W – what are you doing here?'' She doesn't know if she's hearing things, but he sounds like he _doesn't_ want her here, at all. Like she came for him and he doesn't want that.

(She refuses to believe that statement.)

But the thought alone has inflicted it's damaged on her voice, and she trips over her words when she replies back. ''I – I came to –''

''We came to check up on the others.'' Sam finishes as he picks up on the awkwardness, he gives Noah a grin, which the mohawked boy returns.

But she's still at a loss of words, because… did that really just happened? Does he really not want her here at all? And if anything, does he not want her here, for him?

Why not?

''So, you guys just decided to come here… together?'' Finn asks, directing the question to Sam.

She takes it up to herself to answer this. Because every moment spent quiet, is another bit of weakness shared. They do not need to see her vulnerable. ''Yes me and Sam decided to come together. It's quite normal that two friends, whom both survived a deadly attack, visit their other friends_… together_.'' She puts emphasis on together, because every time she says the word, Finn looks closer to fouling himself.

Serves him right. If he throws the ball, he should be on the look-out, because it might just come back.

''You guys are friends now?'' Noah asks humorously. He shakes his head. ''How the hell did that happen?''

She decides that the accident happened – that needing each other happened.

''You know, most of the Glee club's already gone.'' Finn pipes up, this time staring at Rachel. She meets his gaze head on. ''And I doubt that you're here for Quinn, are you?''

She cocks an eyebrow up. What, is he some kind of mind-reader now? No, that can't be. Or else he would've already known why they were here without stating it as a question. Besides, he looks genuine curious.

Actually, why can't she be here for Quinn? Does that seem so odd? Granted, they don't have a great history, and their present doesn't seem to be holding up that well either. But Rachel still cares. Why else would she follow up on her ridicules dream and come to the hospital?

Speaking of dreams.

''We need to leave.'' She licks her bottom lip, ignoring Finn's frown, and Noah's confused look. ''Sam, let's go.'' She hisses.

Finn steps forward, using the crutches in his hands to guide his way. It's sad to see him like this and it takes a lot out of her, it takes _too much_ out of her, to not move forward and hold him like she held Sam when they went on their stroll through the hospital.

(It's not her responsibility, anymore. She needs to stop caring too much.)

''Wait, but –''

''_Aah!''_

Finn and Noah whip their heads backwards, while she and Sam stare right ahead.

The scream.

It's just like the one in her dreams.

She never hesitates, as her feet move quickly forward. She never spares a glance back when she hears the pounder of feet behind her. She never stops when she feels like her world is weighing down.

It's solely about her, the room, Quinn and all the while, as she's nearing the room, the sounds of equipment's falling, loud grunts and screechy voices, invade her ears. It becomes louder with every step that she takes, sounding closer with every thrust of her feet.

It feels so much like a déjà vu.

As her feet abruptly stop before the door she takes it upon herself to instantly grasp the doorknob, trying to turn it over and over and over and _over_, again. But when it never bulges, firmly standing in place, she resolves into pushing, scratching, screaming – because she needs to do anything to open that _damn _door.

(Because it's a must.)

She exclaims her name;_ ''Quinn!''_ Pounding loudly against the door.

(Even when the sting of failure bites into her fists.)

Like on cue, her eyes shoot up to the glass, meeting the ones of something unknown. Unfamiliar – something cold, dark. Cruel. His skin scouring, while healed scars wheel crookedly across his face.

Her heartbeat takes a faster pace.

And the sight does it for her. Her tiny fists relish into pumping the door, harder (is that even possible without bleeding?) her screams enlightening though the silent hospital, as her tears stroll over her cheeks.

And she tries, she tries, she tries. But when is trying ever enough?

''Quinn!''

Nothing.

She's too late…

Before she knows what's happening, her throat choking on her sobs, someone pushes her aside – it's a gentle push, a warning push and through the haze of her tears she sees two muscular figures smashing the door open.

''Rachel stay –''

Finn never gets the chance to finish his sentence as she pushes past Noah and Sam before she heads in.

(Because she's just that stubborn.)

**…**

It's a spur in the moment action. She does without thinking – a spontaneous reaction.

Her feet pass the nurse lying on the floor; she's curled up in a ball, the source of the scream. Her feet pass the bed where Quinn was lying in, quickening in her pace, and without thinking, without really knowing what to do or how to react…

She lunges forward.

It happens and she doesn't even see where she's going. It's two of them, they're so much bigger than her – undoubtedly stronger and she's in it to lose it – she's not in it to give up. Their eyes widen for a millisecond, surprised she thinks. They're surprised. Could they have ever thought that a petite girl like her would ever risk her life for an enemy? For her own enemy?

Could she have ever thought?

Rachel can't bring herself to regret it.

She's not strong enough though – she knew that, knows that. It's not a surprise. But the moment her nails clamp into one of their arms, pulling and scratching at it. She pulls like it's _her_ life depending on the simplest unexpected motion that could cause them to drop Quinn.

Then they use one free arm to swing her away.

And because she's so small (damn her weight) she lands on the floor instantly. Feather lightly. Her head bumps against the wall and the world momentarily spins around her. There are four of them now, two beds, four chairs, two Quinn's and everything is double to her. She's living in a daze.

She wonders why, as she tries to balance her weight on the floor, why they want Quinn. What's so special about her? What makes her so unique that they'd leave their own world to come to theirs?

She knows for a fact that they aren't from her world. They couldn't possibly be. They're not humane enough; they're too strong for that, too. Their structure, the eyes, their faces… nothing ads up.

''Fuck, Rachel.'' Sam bites out. He looks at her than back at the things holding Quinn, than his eyes fall back to her body and they nervously, anxiously, but kind of excitedly widen. ''You gotta be kidding me.''

There's no time for being surprised. God knows that she wants to take a moment right now and breathe, learn to breathe again. Slowly, inhale, exhale. She needs a moment to think, analyze the situation, figure out what the hell is going on… maybe even go back to the library and pick up one of Sam's books? Because right now, they don't seem that ridicules anymore.

Mental note; ask for Sam's forgiveness.

But there's no time for all of that. Now she needs to find a way to get Quinn out of their hands before they disappear, because if they do, all their effort will go to vain.

And she can't risk losing anyone else.

She stands up on shaky feet, Sam moves over to her to balance her – he becomes her shoulder this time – which is kind of nice, if she's bluntly honest. Finn steps in and so does Noah, all sporting an identical look; utterly shocked.

Secretly they're scared too, they just don't show it.

The monsters look back vividly; she suddenly feels a whole lot colder. ''We will _not_ hesitate to kill you.'' Sam frowns, as he looks from the monsters to Rachel. As if they're magnet, attached by the eyes, Rachel holds their gaze and they hold hers and it's like they're holding an unspoken bond, a silent conversation, right in front of everyone else. ''…Or any of you.'' The one holding Quinn goes on. He has a memorable nasty scar on his face. One that goes from his right temple all the way to his left cheek, while his nails are long and dirty, clamping around Quinn's tender frame as a price (as if he _can't_ afford to lose her). He tears his gaze from Rachel, his eyes roaming over her friends.

And be as it may, as she gasps lowly, it felt like he released her internally too.

''Leave!'' He hisses, demanding obedience.

But she has a voice too. _''No…''_ She glares at him, ripping her body from Sam's grasp. ''No!'' Her voice rises, as she takes a daring step forward. Exhaling breathlessly as she narrows her eyes, attempting to frighten them. But they look flabbergast, instead. ''Let her go.''

Although, her boldness is not enough to scare them, she never regrets trying.

The creature behind Scar breaks into a hollow laugh. His abrasive face scrunching up. ''And what if we don't?''

These words have always been the line where someone would speak up and say; 'seeth it yourself,' it's what all the heroes in every movie have done. It's their cue to attack – to show their enemies what they're made of. A silent unwritten rule; 'do on to them, what they don't expect you to do'. But neither of them has anything to show off and become just like those heroes…

And that's where they lose. That's how _she _loses.

They look around each other, waiting for any of them to say anything. Her eyes cross Finn's, his fists clenching around his crutches.

It's killing him.

And that alone is killing her too.

Triumphantly, Scouring face smiles. ''Thought so.'' He finishes.

Scar turns around, Quinn still in his arms as the other creature moves before Scar to block him out of their sights.

Her eyes widen; another step forward, another one, his hands rise. She doesn't do a thing.

''No! Wait!'' Finn shouts. He walks up pathetically, the crutches balancing him. He wants to say something, he just can't figure out what. (Perhaps it's his weak attempt at stretching out time? Maybe a miracle will fall out of the sky and save them all?) But after a pause and his eyes nervously shifting to his unconscious girlfriend in the arms of a monster, he finally breaks out a word. ''Why?'' It's one word, something so small in need of a big answer.

The creature only grins.

(The miracle never comes.)

Finn's face falls, he's not going to get an answer, and she just feels so helpless. So completely helpless – it's like a part of her could have done something to stop this. But yet here she is, standing there aimlessly. Just waiting for something that will never come.

It's not right. Rachel should know what to do.

(They're counting on her, they never speak in volume, but she knows they do.)

''Don't do this.'' Noah cracks out. ''Don't, _dude.'' _And if they won't give in, they follow up on begging for sympathy. But not even that is granted.

Perhaps, maybe, because she does want to be her friend's hero, she takes a daring step forward, clenching her fists and bravely standing tall – but she still, nevertheless, loses.

The next answer they receive is a blurring flash of light consuming her consciousness.

When she wakes up in Sam's arms, white spots titillating her eyesight, there's no sign of the Blonde perfection or the lackluster monsters. There's no sign of any possible miracle, no sign of anyone voicing that this… this all had just been a big mean prank. None of it is there, yet she has the guts to feel surprised. Perhaps she's been holding onto a rope that never had any intention to maintain her safety or that of her friends, for so long, it somehow made her delusional.

The one thing, that found the courage to remind her of what just took place; are the tears strolling down Finn's face and his silent pleads of an unanswered, _why_. _''Quinn…''_ And as warmly, as Finn has done before, he begs the heavens for his drug.

(They don't grant him his wishes.)

**…**

**Next, chapter 5**


	5. Was it always so hot out here?

**…**

**Heroes**

**…**

It's a tragedy.

Losing Quinn is a tragedy beyond words.

And the saddest part isn't the unwitting family crying over their loss, it isn't Finn's break down that has been going on for a week now, without any possible ending, it's not Noah who's seemingly losing his temper every single time. It's the thought that Quinn's not a tragedy that has died like a lot have, but that she's somewhere out there, somewhere far away.

Truth be told, Rachel was craving that glorious day when Quinn Fabray, the girl whom has relentless teased her, wouldn't be a part of her life anymore. Be it Quinn leaving for Harvard or Stanford, or Rachel moving to New York. But with Finn who can't even look her in the eyes (does she remind him so much about the kidnapping?), the tonic taste in her mouth when she had to lie to Quinn's parents about what had_ really _happened, that disgusting twist in her stomach while she dragged Noah, Sam and Finn down with her to support her lie _including_ the female nurse who had shortly afterwards lost her sanity; it wasn't worth it, not even for a second.

The consequences were just… unbearable.

Not an hour had passed before she arrived home, setting herself before her laptop and scrolling through 'Google' in search for anything that could possibly help her out. There were several of keywords she used; meteorite, a monster with a scar, a pretty Blonde; expecting that somehow her answer would be tied to these words.

Her expectations were too high.

During this week she never made any space to mourn the girl, and neither did Sam. Because in all honesty, there's nothing for them to mourn about. If she manages to find out what is going on, who took her, and where Quinn might be, she might find the Blonde.

Mourning is a waste of valuable time.

(She refuses.)

They'll find something.

''It's hopeless.'' Rachel bites out, frowning while she throws the book across his bed.

They've been looking in the books that he's borrowed from the library for over two hours now, in the hope that they might find out if the meteorite connects to Quinn's abduction.

They came up with nothing.

''You shouldn't give up so soon.'' Sam tries. He sits up from his bed, propping his weight on his elbows as one of the books dangles between his fingers. ''Maybe we're looking at it all wrongly.''

She shakes her head. If they're looking at it_ all wrongly_, than where do they have to look? She doesn't know about him, but this is all they have.

He thinks for a moment, pursing his lips, before he says; ''Tell me more about your nightmare…'' He clicks his tongue. ''The one with Quinn in it.''

She cocks an eyebrow up, turning her head to face him. She has told him all there is to know about that specific dream. But she obeys, nonetheless. Perhaps he's on to something? ''I was in the hospital, running to her room when I saw… _them_.'' She refers to the monsters as them, the things that took Quinn away. ''A – and you, Noah and Finn were there, with me, too… And –'' She frowns. ''But wait.'' Suddenly she gets an idea, causing her to stand up from his bed.

Sam's right, maybe they _are _looking at this all wrongly.

''What if.'' She pauses, biting her lip as her thumb and index finger move to her chin. Maybe they need a different approach. ''What if we shouldn't look at the meteorite first… but at the things that took Quinn?''

He frowns. ''_What _– why?''

''If we find out what they are, we can find out what they're after.'' She licks her lips, nodding her head and smiling softly as if she's just come up with the perfect solution. ''If we find out what they're after –''

''– We find out why they want Quinn.'' He finishes, looking up at her. He starts to smile. ''But wait.'' But frowns, thoughtfully instead. They're missing something. ''That still doesn't tell us where they might've taken her.''

He's right. That doesn't tell them where Quinn might be, and her happy, relieved look, just kind of falls.

But at least they have something.

''We'll start small.'' She mutters, flopping to his bed and grabbing the book from where she had disposed it.

**…**

School is silent.

It's the first time that she's witness this. The student body has nothing to laugh about, nothing to talk about or even a cup of slushy willing to be thrown (and that's, honestly, a shocker), they're just aimlessly walking around. Their militancy sucked out of their veins.

Her lips are parted just slightly, a sad look on her face, as she steps through the hallways. Pictures of the students that will be remembered forever cladded on the walls, where prior posters of activities hung. A little frown settles on her face as she gazes at the next picture.

Because there, right in the middle of all the ordinary people, proclaims the beautiful face of the ex-head cheerleader; Quinn Fabray. With her hair hiked up in a ponytail, her hands on her hips, while a smile as deviously as the girl that she's known for pitched perfectly on her lips. And even in all her glory, she manages to make Rachel feel worse about herself.

The bitterness of the truth bubbles up, ticking against her lunges.

She swallows it all down.

(She might've walked faster, maybe even sprinted past the photo as she passed it. She doesn't know (actually, she does)).

School's going to be a bitter ride, and perhaps if she turns around and runs back up to the parking lot she might catch her fathers in time before they leave and convince them to take her home. There won't be a lot of convincing done if she plays her cards right.

She stops, right in the middle of the hallway.

Because right there. She doesn't know what she really wants, anymore.

''Rachel?'' When she turns around and comes face to face with Kurt Hummel, there must be somebody, there way up high, trying to make her feel at least a bit better.

(Maybe even guilty; perhaps Kurt would ask; 'so how about Quinn? How is she?' And she would stay silent, for minutes, and then hours, and he would look at her… but she wouldn't look back.)

She _almost_ cries right there, but would he let her, in front of everyone?

One minute she's aimlessly standing in the middle of the hallway, and in the next, she's holding onto Kurt as if he's her life support. And God, does she need a life support. ''Oh God, _Kurt…_ I – I.'' Her arms wrap on their own accord around his body. Something hangs in her throat. Something that can't be swallowed down. It somehow leaves her lips, kind of bitterly, when she says; ''I _missed _you.''

She really did miss him.

''I missed you too.''

Being in his arms, she feels like she's suffocating in something for all entirety, and even then, their forever seems too short.

**…**

''How's Finn?'' She asks him as they settle down on a table in the cafeteria.

The lessons were a drag. The teachers didn't feel like teaching, the students didn't feel like paying attention (which isn't a first, but at least this time they have a valuable reason). And even she didn't have the strength to correct her English teacher for making the lousy mistake of confusing Romeo and Juliet with Camelot.

She's been looking forward to lunch ever since, maybe she's lacking food in her system.

''He hasn't changed.'' Kurt says. He uses his fork to pick into the potatoes, scrunching up his nose. ''Since Quinn's death,'' she flinches. ''He hasn't bothered to step out of his room… it's quite sad.'' He mutters softly, pursing his lips and narrowing his eyes at his food. ''How long do you think these potatoes were lying in the school kitchen?''

She shrugs. ''Probably a few months – _tops_.'' She guesses. His nose scrunches up further, making a face of disproval. ''And how's Blaine?'' Rachel resumes on asking.

Her spoon scratches up the beans, they look greenish-brownish. It's quite disgusting. ''He's okay.'' Kurt sighs. She moves the beans to her lips, her eyes narrowing down on the spoon. ''I've seen him twice and he's… looking better.'' She can't seem to open her mouth and devilish her teeth into the food. Seriously, they call this food? He sighs, changing the subject. ''Have you seen the others?''

She nods, nearly throwing her spoon down. She's not going to eat that. ''I saw Sam.'' She purses her lips. ''And Noah… Finn, too.'' She leans slightly forward, moving her hand to pick up her soya-milk. ''And… Quinn… _before _she died.''

It's still bitter – the lie, her name. It never rolls off her tongue as easily anymore.

(And death's such a toxic word.)

''How's Sam dealing with it?''

She nods, bringing the milk to her lips. ''He's alright.'' She _thinks_ he's alright, they never talk about it, but he doesn't seem in need to get something of his chest, either. ''Noah though, he's not dealing with it all that well.'' Her stomach growls disapprovingly when she sips from the milk.

_This is so expired._

''How could this have happened?'' Kurt finally mutters. ''It's just… tragic.'' He sets his jaw, moving his sight around the cafeteria. The students have shrined enormously, including the quantity of teachers. What was first a busy cafeteria full of life has turned into a cemetery. ''Why did it have to happen?''

It's like he's asking the question to himself, no one else but him. He wants to find the answers, and she thinks that he's trying to look deep down into his brain, because, perhaps he might've missed something, a sign that could've prevented it all. A tiny little detail that could've stopped it from happening. Who knows, maybe the slightest detail that's been overlooked could've turned it all around?

She thinks that _nothing_ could've prevented this.

She puts her milk down. ''I'm not hungry.'' She tells him.

(She was. She's just not hungry anymore.)

He nods in agreement. ''Neither am I… I think that no one's hungry.''

''It's the cafeteria food.'' She pitches in. ''It's just so _gross._''

He grins, shaking his head, his eyes mirroring his agreement.

Silence passes them, a comfortable silence. She can't say the same about the other students though. Her peers are painfully still, the scrunches of their food oozing throughout the air. It's as if they've given up on living all together, solely moving monotone – losing their friends, significant others, even family – it has killed a part of them, ripped away a piece of their hearts. But at least _they're_ fine. She's fine, Kurt's fine, their Glee club is _partly_ fine, she saw Mr. Schue today, so he's fine too. And that's temporarily enough for her. She can settle with only now.

''Can we sit with you guys?'' She looks up, and a smile instantly blossoms over her face. She nods and Mike grins back. His arm is in gypsum, just like Quinn's, so Tina, who's strolling behind him, is holding his trail. Sam shoots a grin her way, followed by Noah and Artie.

And for a moment as they all settle down, they're their little whacked family again, and this will just have to do.

**…**

Rachel's sitting on the bench in their school's nearly empty parking lot while her legs tremble beneath her. It's cold – an autumnal breeze shifting through the air. Her red jacket isn't enough to keep her whole body warm anymore, but it succeeds in protecting her upper body from the cold. Maybe wearing a skirt today wasn't such a smart idea after all, but at the time, when she was getting dressed, it seemed appropriate. She just _expected_ her knee socks to keep her legs warm.

Apparently, she guessed wrong.

She feels a light tap on her shoulder, followed with a tender masculine voice. ''Rach.'' When she identifies the voice as no one other than Sam Evans, she turns around with a smile clouding her face.

She's been waiting for him to finish basketball practice.

The accident hasn't left any room for football practice, seeing as the field is utterly destroyed. And because of the lives that the attack has taken, Mr. Figgens decided that it would be best to have basketball season start a tad bit earlier so the students whom played football could focus more on an activity and less on their losses.

It's a smart decision, she doesn't know if it's helpful though – thoughtful yes – helpful, maybe.

She stands up and turns to face him, and he has this tiny little half smile on his face that seems to brighten her twilight day. She utters a; ''Hey…'' Before looking up from his shoulder, but frowning as she sees Noah walking to his car, tightly holding onto the strap of his back.

He doesn't look all that well. Maybe even worse.

Curiosity takes control. ''What's wrong with him?'' She asks, jutting her chin over his shoulder.

He cocks his eyebrow up, turning around to look at whom she's talking about. When he sees Noah, Sam seems to rest his shoulders as his face falls. He blows out a breath, a cloud-like form leaving his lips. ''He's not handling what happened last week all that well.''

She looks at him. ''And how are you hanging on?'' It's the very first time that she asks him about Quinn in a non-detailed sentence. He never seemed hurt like the others – but he has been with Quinn, he has loved her. And if anything, love counts for something. Rachel expects him to feel at least an _ounce_ of pain.

He shrugs, which just tells her that it does hurt him. He goes on with; ''I'm okay.''

She bites her lip, looking over his shoulder again. She'll settle with okay. ''I think he needs us.'' She refers to the boy heading up to his car, a pained expression on his face. He might not know that he needs them, but deep within he needs all the support he can get. It's what she does best. Lending out a shoulder for someone to cry on and being there if a friend falls down. She can't guarantee that she's going to be able to catch them as they fall, but she'll be there to fix them when they do.

She walks up to Noah, Sam trailing behind her as she does.

''Noah!'' He stops abruptly at the sound of her voice, twirling around as he looks at her. ''Wait…'' He honestly does wait for her to catch up with him. And she doesn't know who's more shocked about this, him or her.

(Or perhaps even, Sam?)

''What do you want?'' He asks meekly, frowning when she stops before him.

She hasn't rehearsed what she wanted to say to him, but she'll figure out something. ''I –''

''I'm not in the mood, Berry.'' He cuts her off before she even got started.

Which is just bad manners altogether.

Sam clenches his jaw, though. He doesn't look happy. ''She just wants to check up on you okay,'' he exclaims. ''No need to be so moody.''

She bites her lip.

''Whatever.'' Puck rolls his eyes. ''If this 'bout that shit that went down last week in the hospital, don't worry I ain't going to spill _anything_.'' It kind of makes her feel like he's protecting her. But from what actually? He frowns. ''It's kind of crazy what happened, and I rather not think about it, y'know.'' He shrugs, ignorantly. ''S'not like anyone would believe me either way.'' He huffs when she just stares at his flustered face. ''It's not like I'd believe myself either.''

She wouldn't believe him, too.

''Look.'' She puts a hand before her. ''I just… I'm worried okay. I know we're not really friends or anything.'' She pauses, looking around, trying to make sure that nobody but them are hearing this conversation before she lowers her voice. ''But what happened last week… It's _insane_… and – and we need each other now more than ever.''

It's critical. No one may hear their words.

''I don't need shit.'' He bites out, ever so hostile. It's typical Noah. He never wants help from anyone, which just, _infuriates_ her. ''All I need is sleep… 'S not like I'm getting that lately.'' She looks down at her feet. ''Just… I'm not trying to hurt you or anything, but I'm…'' He sighs, pulling a hand over his face, he's exhausted. So is she. Everyone is exhausted. ''I'm burning up. I'm fucking stressed out and I just _can't_ seem to keep my head clear.''

''I know how that feels.'' Her voice is small. ''I have these… abnormal headaches… they really hurt. And I don't know how many aspirins I took, but I'm positive that I took a lot.'' She blows out a tiny laugh. ''And ever since… what happened. I can't, I can't shake those headaches away – and they hurt, and my head's burning up, too, every single time.''

''No, shit. You _don't_ get it.'' She pathetically bites her bottom lip as she looks up at his face. His cheeks are really red – what do they do in those gyms, run marathons? ''I'm seriously _burning up._''

''What you going at?'' Sam asks him.

She shakes her head, taking a step forward. This is idiotic. Why can't he just accept their assistance? ''Noah, look.'' She's going to tell him this as nicely as she can, because she refuses to idly stand by as he works himself into an abyss. She has already lost so many, she won't lose another one. ''I know you're angry about losing Quinn, but you need to… _calm down_.'' His temper is rising to its extreme. Maybe therapy will be good for him. ''This negativity isn't good for you and neither is suppressing your emotions.'' She knows how that feels; she doesn't want him to bottle it up too. Misery loves company, but she rather not drag another friend down with her. ''It's only going to eat you alive–_Oh God_.''

It's like time stood still, her heart stopped, her breath hitched and for a moment she couldn't _breathe_.

The ardor was suddenly there, almost gracing her flesh, the heat was close. _So close._

Puck's eyes widen, taking a step backwards as the red, yellow flames leave his body. ''Fuck.'' How could this be? ''_– put me out_!''

She couldn't comprehend the situation, she couldn't grasp the moment. It wasn't in her hands, she couldn't control it. She _needed_ to control it.

Sam's eyes are huge, grabbing her by the shoulders – she flinches – as he pulls her away from the _burning _Noah.

The flames devour his backpack, his books vanishing into ash.

At least now, as she looks at the black dust, he has an honest to God excuse to tell his teachers when he doesn't bring his books to class.

''Oh… God. Oh God. Oh… my…'' Rachel hampers, taking a step back.

She needs to do something; she needs to stop this before it goes out of control.

She shakes her head as slowly as possible, her eyes mirroring the fervidly sight. ''W – we need to do something.'' She manages to crack out, staring at Noah. The flames cross his hands, tainting his fingers as it goes south over his chest. He takes a step closer (she takes a step back).

He's moving his hands in a rapid motion, his hazel eyes full of fear. In a weak, destitute attempt he tries to blow the flames out, using the air to extinguish the fire. Her heart skips a beat when the flames dare to move closer.

Sam replies with a nod. ''Puck, dude_, stop it!_''

Her head slowly turns around to face Sam, her face clearly flabbergast. He returns to look at her, shrugging his shoulders.

''What? It might've helped.''

''Put me the fuck _out!_'' He shouts, falling to his knees. He doesn't seem to burn with its radiation. It doesn't look like he's perishing with its power. If anything, it looks like he's providing for it – a segment of his own.

He's shaking, trembling before their eyes, his hands grab the dirty ground as his fear and rage elucidate the frown on his face. With each clench of his fists the flames magnify, consuming bits of his clothing.

Then she blinks, one time, parting her lips as she looks at him.

She knows what to do.

''Noah! _Noah_, listen!'' She dares to take a step forward, but Sam grasps her hand in his, stopping her in her motion to move closer. The thought only crosses her mind for a second that he's _touching_ her. But she doesn't bulge, she never bulges. ''Listen to me. You need to think positive.'' She's shooting with blanks here, and Noah knows that.

He's scared as he stares up at her.

''Fuck that! Bring me a fucking bucket of water!''

''No listen, it won't extinguish unless you think positive.''

He's still helplessly looking at her, waiting for more directions. Maybe something that could push him right where she wants him to be.

She has none.

''Think rainbows and unicorns.'' Sam pitches in, nodding his head. ''Or think… Avatar.''

The flames enlarging, growing wilder as it resolves to move over his thighs.

If they don't act fast, he's going to burn the whole school down, and they can't have another disaster.

_Wait. _That's it!

''Think about Beth!'' She shouts.

This earns his complete attention.

She's got him. ''Think about how beautiful she is, w – with green eyes… and, and blond curly hair. Think about how much she loves you.''

His shoulders relax; his face becomes less tensed and more neutral as his eyes behold her anxious stare. ''Think about how little she is.'' And softly as though no one's looking – he's wandering into her mom's house where Beth is toying with a doll that she's received from him. ''Think about how much _you_ love her.'' The baby girl is smiling, toothily… then her hands reach up for his, he takes her, enveloping her precious small body into a warm embrace.

'_Daddy.'_

And that's all it takes for the flames to succumb, having already scalded half his clothing in its destruction while it mesmerizingly kept his skin unscathed. The flames dove off as it disappears into the broad day light, finding will to breathe out its smoke.

Her lips can't utter a sound, the shock slowly grasping her heart. Her feet tremble, but this time she's sure that it's not because of the cold. She revolts into digging her nails into Sam's hand, because if she doesn't hold onto him as tightly as she can, she's positive that her feet will cave in.

She can't show them how scared she is, right now. She can't show them how vulnerable she is. So, her nails dig deeper. Marking her touch in red fingerprints on his palm.

''What is going on?'' She mutters softly, closing her eyes at all the possibilities crossing her mind. They're too much, so much. And her mind can't keep up rolling them around in a dice.

_She's scared. _

''I don't know.'' Sam responds softly while gazing at his friend on the ground. Puck wrings his hands in his Mohawk, twisting and turning his fingers in the straps of his hair. She's not the only one who's scared. ''But I'm going to find out.''

When she looks at Sam, a mischievous twinkle shifting in his eyes, she starts to fear the worst of this bittersweet nightmare.

(In a flash, she rips her hand of his, takes a large step away from him, and clenches her fists.)

(He never comments.)

**…**

**Next, chapter 6.**


	6. Down

…

**Heroes**

…

''I've been thinking about this… ever since the first bucket of water I'd consumed.'' He pauses, exhaling a deep breath. ''And then what happened to Puck… those flames… it's not ordinary, you know. It was fucked up…''

She whispers, softly; ''Sam…''

He never hears as he closes his eyes. ''But think about it… it all happened after the meteorite crash… Who's to say he's the only one… changing?_'_'

''Dude, don't be stupid!'' Noah shouts, standing at the left side of her. He balls up his fists, his feet softly shuffling forward. Scrunching the stones of the concrete. He's looking at Sam's figure, the Blonde's body arched as he stares over the sea. Has never looked more serene. ''Do you want to commit suicide? Do you want to leave your loved ones behind?'' Noah vehemently shakes his head. ''You know that this shit ain't the way to cope with our problems.''

''I always picked you for a hard-core kind of guy, like, you'd totally kill yourself in the name of Avatar.'' Santana pitches in. ''But this – this even goes above all of your fantastic-four standards.'' Santana's hand raises, her index finger pointing at his back. ''Don't do anything stupid and just step away from the cliff, Fish lips… _please_.''

He laughs haughtily instead. His arms rising at his sides as if he's taking in the cool wind. Summoning something up larger than their knowledge. ''Guys… can you hear it?''

Rachel shakes her head. He's insane. He's gone completely ballistic. And if she doesn't do anything to get him away from that awful looking edge, his insanity might get the best of him. ''We don't hear anything, Sam!'' She exclaims, taking a step closer, a miniature daring step. ''Don't be stupid.'' She inhales this breath that puffs her chest up and clenches her heart painfully. Scoring her throat. ''_Don't_ do it!''

The wind blows her hair to the side, swiping it over her right shoulder.

''I can hear the waves sing. Do you hear it too?'' He mutters.

What happens next is a vague vision. An image attached to a rolling film.

His feet gently lose power, his tippy toes tipping him over the edge and as he falls head over heels for the sea beneath the cliff, Santana's deafening scream of his name zooms in on her ears.

(It's not a choice. It never was. It's not a decision. How could it? It's a spontaneous reaction. As she screams his name right along with her peer.)

* * *

><p><strong>Two days ago.<strong>

Noah doesn't move an inch from his seat on his couch. Holding in his hands the cup of tea that she has made for him.

Rachel's made herself at home in the Puckerman household, his mother has told her several times before to do so. He's twirling the cup in his hands, the tea satchel lying soaked on the coffee table. It's an unsanitary habit. But she can't bring herself to comment on his behavior. It's not the right moment, anyway.

His shoulders are tense, she notes. And his eyes are focused solely on the wall ahead of him, engraving the familiar spot into his mind.

She hovers somewhere next to the couch, fumbling with the ends of her sleeves. It's as if she lost the will to think altogether. Make sense out of something that is way above her league. This puzzle piece doesn't fit in her puzzle. It shouldn't be here. And she's lost to figure out where it really belongs. How can she help someone when she can't even figure out what is going on with herself? She's not whole and here she is, intending to fix someone that isn't whole either.

Sam's the first one to speak up. ''Are you… are you like, going to explain… _Or_?'' He bites his lip. Awkwardly motioning a hand to Noah as the mohawked boy at the same time looks up into Sam's marvelous eyes. Sam moves up and down on his toes. ''You know.'' The look Noah's shooting Sam implies that he doesn't know. He resolves into making his words a bit clearer. ''What happened out there, dude?''

Rachel wants to know the same thing.

''You think I know? Like what…'' He scrunches his nose, frowning. ''You think I know what the fuck is happening to me?'' He exclaims, jutting an eyebrow up. ''If I knew I wouldn't be fucking sitting on my damn sofa drinking _tea_. For fucks sakes, I at least need something stronger.'' He spits it out, word for word. He can't even bring his self to look at her and catch her reaction. She knows that feeling. ''I – I don't…_ I_ _don't know_. I fucking want to… But I just don't know… I can't… I can't make sense of _this!''_

Noah's needy for an answer. Blindly grasping at those straws that lay before him. But every time he picks one up, expecting that this will reveal him the truth, it doesn't seem to fit his situation. And it's quite sad seeing him reach for things that won't bring him any further.

She bites her lip, intending to drill his feelings out. ''How do you feel?'' An ice-breaker, she guesses.

He shrugs, leaning back against his couch with the tea still in his hands. She's just set that tea; it's incandescent hot. That Noah's able to hold it without burning his hands just states how out of the ordinary this situation actually is.

She wonders if they need professional help. Perhaps go to the police and hope to find a savior there.

''I feel… I don't know how I feel.'' He starts to move his tea to his lips. She eyes him drinking it without blowing the heat, swallowing the tea down. ''It felt strange – not a good strange… not a bad strange. Just really _freaky_… Like the first bungee jump, you know? The thrilling excitement, the fear, but then there's that feeling. That good feeling. The feeling that's just... right. That things are exactly as they should be. You guys probably won't understand… but it was…'' He straightens his back, staring ahead. ''…Uplifting and frightening, _at once…_''

She understands. She _thinks _she understands.

''And when the fire just… _rushed _throughmy body.'' He frowns, almost confused. ''I was – it was – it didn't hurt, you know. I was just pissed off scared. I mean, a stud like me shouldn't die combusting. Figures fear'll come rolling by.'' She rolls her eyes. Slightly amused. ''But then it looked like – looking death in the eyes.'' Her eyes follow his face, as he slowly shakes his head. ''I have to live to see it _all_. I want to live to see it all.'' He clenches his jaw and the silence that overtakes them is nauseating painful. He moves his head up to cast his audience a fast glance. ''It wasn't like it was _trying_ to kill me or something. It wasn't after that… It felt like it was speaking to me… calling me to… to… understand it, befriend it… _become_ it.''

It's an odd analyze. But the faint sparkle in his hazel eyes seem like he's explaining it from the heart. And that is something that she would never understand.

''Do you guys think that maybe, like a far out maybe, this could have something to do with those screwed up monsters?'' Sam wonders out loud. She resolves into shrugging out a maybe as Noah falls back into his silent demeanor. She feels like he's thinking back at the moment, trying to make better sense out of it. Sam licks his lips, his teeth lingering in his bottom lip. ''I'm starting to think that the meteorite did this to you.'' He looks at Noah. ''To all of us.'' His sight falls on her – meaning her dreams, those persistent dreams that seem to explain the future. ''Maybe to everyone. Maybe it made something out of us… something that we can't simply explain. Like… something supernatural.''

She can't believe that without cold hard facts. There is indeed something going on with them, but if the meteorite is the cause of this... that is yet to be investigated. ''We don't know that for sure.'' She tells him. ''It could be only Noah suffering these alleged supernatural powers… For all we know something else could be the cause of this.''

''Then how do you explain those monsters.'' Sam states. ''You can't tell me that there's nothing supernatural about that… They obviously needed something from Quinn… who knows, maybe she's like Puck.''

In a fit of pressure she raises her hands, shooting back. ''We don't know that! And we can't make these accusations if we don't have cold hard facts!''

But Sam snorts, as if he has already made up his mind. And when he looks at her with this uneasy glint in his eyes, her face oozes, her hands travel back to their sides, as she starts to fear the worse.

If only she knew what was hidden in that mind of his, behind those innocent green eyes.

Suddenly a phone starts beeping. They slowly move their heads to the source of the sound, right in time to see Puck move over to fetch his phone out of his scalded jeans.

'''S Puck.'' He mutters in greeting. He nods a few times, a dint forming in his forehead, as his hands clench around the cup. '_'What?_ What. Calm… calm down! Calm the fuck down Satan! Don't worry, yeah… yeah.'' He nods frequently. ''I'll be there. Just wait… I said I'll be there!''

He shuts the phone, a frown at place as he stands up with the tea cup in his grasp. Small smokes emerging from the liquid.

He looks uneasy, his tongue barely able to emit the sentence. ''We need to head up to the hospital.''

(The look on his face scares her.)

…

A crying Santana is all kinds of wrong.

It's the sign that Jupiter hit Mars, that the stars fled to solid ground, that sunshine became rain and rain became snow. It's the sign of the apocalypse. But more importantly; it's finally downed upon their world that something has hurt the indisputable girl. Something has irked its way through layers of barrier, crawled beneath rows of fences and crossed a path full obstacles, finding at the end of it all a beating heart owned by the undisputable Santana Lopez. And then it touched the nectar of heart, inflicting pain. _Ensuring _pain.

Santana slowly walks up to Noah the moment he strolls out of the door, her feet gradually speeding up until she's running. Her legs taking her as far as they can. When she finally hits his chest, he momentarily flinches. His hands are pressed tightly against his sides as Santana's manicured nails dig into his back, holding him as close as their bodies let them. The ironed shirt wrinkles underneath her hands, turn into balls of clothing in her fists.

He can't touch her – if anything, he _fears_ to touch her.

''They said it's serious!'' She sobs against his chest. He looks pained; he's obviously not used to crying girls. ''They said –'' a sob breaks out of her throat, her nails digging deeper into his back. Santana's hug seems to leave Noah in physical pain. ''They said that she needs an _operation…_''

She? _She?_

There's only _one_ she that Santana would _ever _cry about.

(And then it hits her. As if the impact has enough ammunition to destroy her.)

''Brittany?'' Rachel mutters under her breath. Sam seems to think the same thing, because his eyes start to shimmer, his chin shivering as he frowns sadly. ''No…'' She breathes out.

This can't happen. Not Brittany. _God no_. Not her.

Santana whips her head up, her bloodshot eyes and strained mascara tainting her cheeks. She frowns. ''What the hell are they doing here?'' She barks out, pushing herself off Puck. ''I told you to come – not bring _them_ with you.''

''We just… wanted to help.'' Rachel's voice is tiny. She's not façade of the glare Santana shoots her way. Not at this moment, at least. She's too tangled up with the thought of everything that is currently bitting through her skin. ''I'm so sorry Santana.''

With each step that Santana takes the glare seems to falter. She can't even see how weak she's getting while nearing Rachel. She can't even feel the way her knees seem to tremble with each coming step. Gaining closer is all that she wants to do, voice her wrath up-close – but even that seems to take a lot out of her.

Rachel has to contain herself from crying, because right now there's somebody else that needs to let it out. There somebody else right in front of her that is damaged. Rachel's pain just simply has to wait and her arms gradually have to open. ''I'm _so _sorry, Santana.'' She feels like she could've stopped it that the smallest detail could've stopped _everything_.

(What if prevention was right ahead of her but she was too blinded by the figure of Finn?)

This time Santana completely halts.

When Santana knees cave in, her tears pleading against the numbing pain, Rachel finally releases a few tears of her own. Their cries in a soothing harmony, yet so astray.

…

It's like re-runs of Puck on his couch looking defeated, only this time Puck's replaced with Santana and there's no cup of tea in her hands, no angry facial expression, no couch. She's just utterly heartbroken, completely destroyed. Just like him. Sam's touching her – the only one who dares to move a finger. Noah can't, he fears that he's going to set the Latina in fire. Rachel won't, she doesn't want to move into an alternative universe of their future again.

They're all just a bunch of scared little kids in a complicated world.

''I can't lose her.'' Santana cries, shaking her head. Her eyes detain the white wall before her, never moving her sight even when a person passes her by. ''Not her.''

''You won't.'' Sam helpfully pitches in. He rubs his hand up and down her back as she sobs and sniffs her nose. ''Brittany's strong.''

Santana pouts. ''I know she is. I know she'll make it.'' She presses her lips together, frowning sadly. ''I trust that she'll make it… she won't leave me.'' She sniffs again, shaking her head. ''But she might… but they said that she might never dance again. And that _will_ kill her.'' They're like that. They love each other so much that their significant other's pain – becomes their pain.

''How big is the chance?'' Noah asks her from his seat at Santana's right side.

She sniffs, louder, noisier. ''Forty percent.''

''Than you have to believe in the sixty percent.'' Rachel pipes up. ''At least it's a bigger chance that she'll make it unscratched out of the operation.''

She refuses to respond as she changes the subject. ''What are you guys doing together anyway?'' She wipes her nose, directing the question to Noah. ''You know I love me some trio sex stories but I would've never guessed that two guys and one girl was your cup of tea.''

''The fuck Santana!''

Rachel huffs.

''What… No!'' Sam shakes his head, flabbergast. ''It's not; it's not like that…'' He points to his self. ''I'm not –_''_

''I'll have you know that though I don't condole such actions, means that I actually prefect them!'' Rachel bites out.

Santana holds her hands up in mock-surrender. ''I'm just asking, no need to throw in a fit.'' She retorts truthfully, yet a playful smile lingers on her lips. ''So how 'bout it? What's going on – 'cause there has to be something going on if Puck's willing to hang out with Berry _and_ Trouty mouth at the _same_ time.''

''Who says we've been hanging out?'' Noah begins defensively. ''We could've seen each other on the road.''

Santana shakes her head determined. ''Nah, that can't be. So you just happened to see them on your way to the hospital? Please, Puck. I'm not stupid. And besides, you look fucked up – have I already told you how fucked up you look? No? 'Cus you do. Shit man, I dunno what the crash has done to you, but you need sleep. And fast.'' She eyes him up and down, making a disproval sound as she eyes his clothing. ''What'd you do? Jumped into your hearth? Had a death wish? Made deal with the devil and he came to collect your sorry ass and drag you back to the flames of hell?''

''Shit… What the hell do you think I do in my free time?''

''Honestly, I don't know Puck and I don't wanna know.'' Santana is honest to God waiting for them to answer her questions. ''So?''

She looks at the boys, both giving her the approval nod.

It's funny. Santana and secrets. But, _yeah._

''Something is going on…'' Rachel purses her lips. ''Something really, really weird.''

Perhaps the Latina has some weird symptoms too; perhaps she knows how to cope with this. Has a faraway relative that's specialized in these cases. Santana could help them out.

Santana frowns when she looks at her, clicking her tongue. ''Okay…''

…

''So wait, _wait._'' Santana leans down with her hands on her knees, curiously looking around. ''Le' me get this straight.'' She sits up right, crossing her arms over her chest. Rachel's been explaining the story for over ten minutes now and Santana had never made any motion to interfere her, never even shoved her the most common look that Rachel has received in her life; _'yup, it's true, you crazy'_. Instead the Latina stayed calm and nodding ever so often.

But now, after her explanation, she finally utters her thoughts.

''Puck over there.'' Santana thrusts a thumb behind her shoulder. ''Can combust –''

''Not combust… I just, like… yeah. The flames and I are tight.''

''Okay…'' Santana mutters. ''And you,'' she just her chin to Rachel. ''See the future… and Quinn's _not _actually dead that's just a sick lie that all of you made up… 'cause you three, including Franketeen saw the bitch get taking away by _monsters_. No joke. Actual, living, freaking, creepy… _monsters_…'' Rachel nods (calling Quinn a bitch is frankly inappropriate right now, though). ''And Sammy, he's got – what? Nothing?''

''Nothing that we know of.'' Rachel corrects.

''You never said that you saw the future.'' Noah shoots her and ridiculed look, cocking his eyebrow up. ''You saw them fuckers take Quinn?''

Of course she said nothing, would he have believed her if she did? Heck, she didn't even believe herself for a few days straight.

She opens her mouth to explain herself but Santana cuts in.

''I'm not done yet, Puckerman. You can bitch later.'' She turns to face him, narrowing her eyes, which he returns gladly. ''Whatever. Anyways.'' Santana turns back around, pursing her lips. ''So all in all, you guys think the meteorite fucked you up?''

''We don't really think so.'' Rachel says. ''But it's a... possibility.''

''_Aha. _This is more drama than an episode of _The O.C.._ And believe me when I say that that show's packing._''_

Santana doesn't believe them. Whatever, though. ''Look, we don't need you to believe us!'' Rachel exclaims. ''What's of importance now is finding out where Quinn is. The rest will eventually fall into place.''

It doesn't surprise her that Santana doesn't believe them. She didn't believe it for quite some time either.

''Who said that I didn't believe your shit?'' Okay, that really is a shocker. She seemed disbelieving. ''I mean.'' Santana shrugs. ''It's insane, like _really_ insane. _Mentally _insane. Like shit, I know this really good psychiatrist that _mi padre_ could hook you up with.'' She purses her lips to Rachel's solidified gasp. ''But I've heard a lot of insane things and this doesn't even cut it.''

Rachel scrunches up her nose. What kind of insane things? Does she even _want_ to know?

Sam looks confused. ''So, you'll, like, help us?'' He sounds scared for even asking this.

(Rachel can't blame him; Santana can be really abrasive if she wants to.)

''Yeah, why not –'' she shrugs. ''I've got nothing else to do. Sides, it'll…'' She sighs. ''It'll keep my mind of Brittany for a while.'' She shrugs. ''Anything to kill of time, right?''

Santana _wants _to help them. Okay, granted, she's only doing it because she has nothing else to do. But it's nice, nonetheless.

''Do you know what we're about to do, guys?'' Rachel asks while eyeing all of them. And this is it. Their little group has expanded to four. ''It's _abnormal_. We're like… about to solve a mystery.''

''Whatever.'' Noah rolls his eyes, standing up and cracking his back. ''Let's quite this sissy ass moment, because fuck it if this doesn't feel like we're about to put out hands together and go all _'one for all and all for one'_…'' He snorts. ''Just know Berry… we're in it to figure out what happened to Q and what the hell is happening to us. Nothin' more. No superhero shit. Just a little arrangement 'till everything goes back to normal.''

Rachel glares at him. What would've been a beautiful touching moment has been destroyed by Noah's crude remark. However, this is not something new. Perhaps they_ are_ moving towards the right direction of become their old selves again. Extraordinary circumstances not with counted, of course.

…

They've been searching for information for two days straight. Sitting here in her house with Noah and Santana and five thick books scattered around the living room floor, is no exception.

She receives the call at six pm.

Noah and Santana are discussing the kind of powers everyone could have received from the meteorite and Santana's shutting all his suggestions down with (il)logical retorts, which infuriates him – he was never fond of losing. Not the kind of boy that admitted defeat. Rachel's come to notice that whenever Noah rages he'll turn red in his face and if what had happened two days ago is any indication, they shouldn't infuriate him if they value their lives.

(She's still intending to take Broadway by storm. Keeping Noah happy is so to speak a requirement.)

She stands up the moment her phone beeps – glad to be away from the bickering two students in her living room.

When she sees Sam's number flash across her screen she expects him to tell her that he's arriving a little later to their meeting. But as she clicks the green button and takes the phone to her ear, he tells her otherwise.

''Where are you?'' She asks him, moving away from the noises leaving her living room. They can be loud when they want to and if what Noah has told her is true, Santana's a screamer. ''I need you, I'm fearing Santana's wrath and Noah seems to be getting angrier every second… I have no intention, whatsoever, to cremate!'' She giggles to show him that she's not _that_ angry about him running late. ''When will you be here?''

She hears a gushing sound at the background. She frowns against her phone, wondering where he _exactly_ is. ''You need to come… bring Puck and Santana.''

''What? What are you talking about?'' She waits for him to clarify, but he has no intention of doing so. ''Where are you?''

'''Portal Sea'.'' _Portal Sea?_ What is he doing there? Doesn't that exist of only water?

''Why are you –''

''You need to come over.'' He sounds giddy, out of breath. As if he's climbing something. ''I need to show you something.''

Her heart skips a beat. It's not a good feeling – more of fearsome bite against her chest.

''Sam –'' She hears the beep from the other line, meaning that he's just disconnected her. She holds the phone from her ears, staring ridiculed at it.

It's one thing to be late, but disconnecting her on the phone while she's still talking… well, that's just rude.

The frown deepens on her face when she re-thinks their conversation; the gushing sound at the background, his out of breath words. His need show her something.

_Something's wrong._

She puts the phone in her pocket, turning around with her tongue stuck out, hovering at the tip of her upper lip. Santana's the first one to see her indecisive demeanor.

''What's with you?''

When she shrugs, stepping closer, this feeling in her pit builds up. It claws at the inside of her chest and twirls her stomach clockwise. ''Something's about to happen.'' She mutters loud enough for them to hear.

Her living room falls silent right after her hunch. And for the first time in the two hours that they've been here, no one utters a sound.

The sound of silence had never been more fearsome, than today. Right here. Right now.

* * *

><p><strong>Present.<strong>

She loses it.

Rachel Berry; _loses it_.

During his jump several emotions shoot throughout her body; fear, pain, betrayal_, anger_. But the thought that springs out the most through those jumbled up emotions; _he's_ going to _leave_ her. He's going to run up, and go, and _die _and leave her like everyone else has. Like Finn, her mother, even in some way Quinn, like her fathers. And eventually, all of them leave.

He's going to leave her if he hasn't left already.

(He has left, damnit, he _has_.)

She can't, she just _can't_ lose anyone else. It's too much for her heart; it's too much for her to bear. It's enough to break her… shatter her. If it hasn't broken her already. If she hasn't been shattered already. Sam _can't_ leave her. Not like this. Not without goodbye. She deserves more than that.

More than this. Better than his lackluster farewell.

She_ runs_ after him.

All clear thoughts thrown on the floor; _'don't do it' 'you're going to kill yourself, too' 'let him commit suicide alone'_, as she runs up to the edge where he has just discarded his self and _jumps_. The air is cold as it clamps to her skin, hitting her face as she swiftly falls to the sea. The sounds of Santana's and Noah's voices calling her become more faded as time slows down.

Then water hits her skin.

It's cold. So achingly _cold._ It takes little bites out of her flesh, pulling her down with it lavation. Her feet move slowly, her hands pushing her upwards to the surface. But the waves are strong, the water is strong and it slaps her hard in the face. Yet she refuses to let it overpower her as she musters the strength to swim up to the surface – it's not much strength, but it's enough. Rachel exhales a large breath when she hits the sky, couching irrevocably as her nose relishes into the feel of air.

_Just breathe… calmly breathe._

She's coughing up water, blinking rapidly to relieve her misty eyes.

As her sight slowly becomes clearer, Rachel doesn't waste any time to freestyle forward.

''Sam!'' She exclaims, using her feet to keep her afloat. ''Answer me!'' She spits the water out that reluctantly forces its way into her mouth.

''Sam!''

No answer.

''Evans!''

Nothing.

She feels herself sink, but the need to find him is much stronger than the need to give up. She doesn't know how long she can manage to keep this pattern up, though. Swim and cry out. Hope and wish at the same time. But for now, this just has to do.

''Rachel, are you crazy!'' Noah shouts from the cliff. He's got his hands curled up around his mouth. ''What the hell do you think you're doing!'' He forces his hands down. Shaking his head as he mutters; ''fuck it.''

He has a dark glint in his eyes.

''Don't you dare go down, Puck.'' Santana tells him as she sees him willingly hold the end of his shirt. ''You don't know what could happen – for all we know you can desiccate the whole fucking sea and kill them. We don't know the volume of your powers. Don't test it out now.''

He gives her a pointedly look. He doesn't want to leave his friends hanging, but he does see the truth in Santana's statement. ''Fine.'' He steps away from the cliff, giving up without ever having tried. He bites his lip, venomously pulling his hands through his Mohawk. Tugging at the ends. ''Shit… It sucks feeling so helpless.''

Santana anxiously, staring at the sea, nods in agreement.

Rachel thrusts her hands forward, screaming his name continuously. She pauses ever so small, waiting to hear his voice. Or any sign that could indicate his existence. But as she hears nothing, she proceeds to pick up the same pattern.

She screams. But he never answers.

She cries, the echoes that revolt are only hers.

What if he has sunken?

Because he could, couldn't he?

Without a second thought she dives into the sea, thrusting her feet behind her as she wills them to bring her deeper. Her eyes scan over the blue liquid, looking for any sign of his existence; a Blonde hair, his stripped shirt, perhaps his shoes. She holds it out for at least five seconds, maybe even seven, before she dives up, inhales a deep breath and proceeds to do the same thing over again. Repeat after repeat.

Her body is getting tired, her legs move in a slower pace. Who knew that swimming could be so exhausting?

After each dive and each thrust of her hands she seems to drain herself out even more. Her hand trails along her face, moving her fingers along her eyes. Water drips across her arm as her heavy wet sleeve powerful claims her hand back to the sea.

(She can't keep doing this the whole time.)

''Sam!'' She hears herself yell out his name, but the sound of her own voice becomes vaguer and vaguer_. ''Sam, dammit!''_

She's so exhausted.

''_I knew it!''_

Her head whips up, her hair clashing against her cheeks. His voice. _His body_. He's still alive. ''Sam.'' She mutters, a smile blossoming on her face. It's all good. He's there.

But wait? Is he… is he… Is he walking on water or is her insanity starting to take control of her eyesight?

It's her exhaustion; she's starting to see things.

''Look what I can do!'' He shouts like a six year old. He moves the water surrounding him along his hands, swirling the water around him like a vortex. ''I can control water.'' He chirps in.

The smile on her face brightens – apparently she's not mentally insane – and when he catches sight of her in the sea, his face turns from confusion, to shock _before _a smile graces his lips. But it's a bigger smile. A brighter smile.

And she smiles back, ever so lightly.

(Truth be told, seeing him smile like that, was worth the sacrifice.)

Her tired body finally gives in as her heavy eyelids follow shoot and shut close. His voice taints through her ears, a remarkable soft pitch; whispering her name like a forbidden fruit. Sweet, deliciously sweet.

And that's that.

_Total darkness._

(She likes to replay that smile. Recalling the reason she jumped.)

* * *

><p><strong>Next, chapter 7<strong>


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